Hathaway&Dragomir
by Selenolatry
Summary: Human Detective Rose Hathaway pairs with ace Medical Examiner Lissa Dragomir in this AU based off of Rizolli&Isles. Her old flame and mentor, Dimitri, returns to the scene, making Rose's life even more complicated as a serial killer is after her again.
1. Prologue: An Old Flame

**5 years ago**

I couldn't decide if it was irony or bad karma that he was treating the wounds he'd inflicted on me. Whichever it was, I didn't question it. It was nice to feel his touch without worrying if it would leave a bruise later on.

Unlike in combat training, his fingers were feather-light as they probed my ankle, looking for any signs of something more severe than a sprain. I was awed by the transformation. The same hands that could snap a man's neck were gently tending to my injury, warmly brushing my skin. "Don't tell me you finally managed to break a limb, Comrade," I joked, needing to fill the silence and distract myself from that dangerous train of thought.

He smiled slightly. Though it was a small gesture, it was a rare one for him, my heart kicking into overtime at the sight. Automatically, I silently and ruthlessly chatised myself for getting so excited. "Of course not," he said. "It's just another sprain."

I scoffed. "'Just'? You're only saying that because you're not the one that has to deal with it."

"Perhaps, but at least you'll live. Compared to some of your other injuries, this should be nothing."

I sighed and crossed my arms. It was a typical Dimitri response using typical Dimitri logic. I was surprised he hadn't thrown in some related, zen-life lesson. Of course he was right though. In our line of work, a sprain was the least of our worries. Training to be a FBI agent was more intense than most gave it credit for. "Still," I grumbled, knowing I was whining, but not caring. It would slow me down for the next week. Dimitri, seeming satisfied he really _hadn't_ broken anything, wrapped the semi-swollen ankle, reminding me for the third time not to push myself. I waved it off, saying, "Yeah, yeah, bed rest, I got it."

He gave me a pointed look, probably guessing I'd jump out of bed at the first opportunity. Damn. He knew me too well. "I mean it, Rose," he warned, "No practice for the next three days until it's healed."

Now _that_ caught me off guard. I leapt up in disbelief, forgetting all of his advice in an instant. "You can't be serious!" I exclaimed. Yet, even as I said that, I stumbled, my injury giving way. Dimitri caught me in a flash, steadying me. He opened his mouth, probably to say I-told-you-so, but cut himself off before he said anything.

Like me, he realized the situation we were in. Whatever heat had warmed between us before flamed up at our close proximity, crackling between us. It was clear from the look on his face I wasn't the only one experiencing it. I had little self-control, and even though Dimitri was the poster boy for stability and reason, I could see him wage his own mental battle, trying to regain his picture-perfect composure.

In that moment, I realized two things.

One was that Dimitri wasn't as collected as he appeared to be. He was simply better at hiding it than me. When it got down to the core, we were practically the same, each trying to stay in control and reign in our emotions for the sake of doing what was right.

The second thing I realized was, right then, I didn't _want_ to be right. As I said before, I had barely an ounce of self-control. I gave into what I wanted, preferring to live in the moment and not care about the later consequences. That being said, Dimitri really shouldn't have been that surprised when I leaned forward and kissed him.

And as I hoped, and expected, Dimitri's will also cracked. He kissed me back fiercely, just as passionate as he was in battle. Between our two competitive personalities, things got hot and heavy pretty quickly, both of us lost in our primal instincts.

I barely had time to dwell on how I was going to hell for hooking up with my mentor.


	2. Deja Vu

It was amazing how many people- men in particular- underestimated me. You would think with my kind of reputation, word would have gotten around that the name Rose Hathaway was something to fear.

Nope.

Detective or not, I was still petite with a pretty face and nice figure. At first glance, I was probably as nonthreatening as... well, a rose, cliche as that comparison may be. Behind that charming facade though was a force to be reckoned with, something most had to find out the hard way. Not that I minded fulfilling that quota.

As usual, I didn't think things through. I just acted. When a suspect decides to run, it tends to flip the switch from negotiations to full-out bitch brawl. After suffering three straight days of paperwork, I welcomed the change of speed.

Feet pounding against the ground, I ripped through the backway twists and turns, the wind viciously beating against me. I ignored it, pushing myself to run harder. Cutting a close corner, I chased after him through a narrow alleyway, praying that if any pursuing cars were still on our tail, they wouldn't try to make it through here. The alley bent and opened up into a makeshift parking lot, completely empty save for a few stacked boxes. I doubted this side of town got much business.

He was close, less than a few yards away. As I closed the distance between us, I did the first thing that came to mind: I tackled him. And when I say I tackled him, I _tackled_ him. My football-enthusiast, ex-CIA agent mother would have been proud.

Slamming him hard into the concrete, he grunted painfully, the wind knocked out of him. I sat up and maneuvered my knee so it pinned in between shoulder blades, my other foot firmly planted in the ground. It was still easy to throw me off, and he attempted to- until I locked the barrel of my gun onto the back of his neck.

"Casey Andrews, you're under arrest for the murder of Aaron Bale," I growled just as the rest of the police force swung into the lot, sirens blaring. I glanced up. _Welcome to the party, guys._

One of the officers yanked Andrews from underneath me, locking him in handcuffs and delivered the usual you-have-the-right-to-remain-silent speech. I got to my feet, too, smiling as Mason, my partner in crime, showed up. We'd been working a couple years together and meshed well. Though that could be trouble just in itself sometimes.

"Nice work, Hathaway," he praised, handing me my blazer. Adorned in a gray trench not unlike my black-and-white getup, his blue eyes gleamed in the last traces of sunlight. I had to admit, he was pretty cute, in a boyish sort of way. "I'm disappointed, no ripped clothing or injuries?"

I gave him a lopsided grin. "Nope, you'll have to wait to check me out some other time, Mase. Besides, I can't stay long enough for you to finish ogling. I have another appointment to catch."

He made a face. "You heart breaker, you have a date."

I couldn't help it; I laughed. Mason always acted like I had a hundred guys waiting at my doorstep with a bouquet of roses and box of chocolates. Scary part was, with the attention I got from the male population, that wasn't too far out of the realm of possibility. But that was one of the exact reasons why I didn't date. That and my job. Getting a call about having to check out a murder tended to diminish any chance of getting hot and heavy with a guy. "No, not tonight- unless you're volunteering." Before he could reply, I chuckled and shook my head, not wanting to encourage him. "Actually, I've got a business date. Sydney's back in town and wants to meet up."

Mason quirked his eyebrow at the mention of the constantly missing, CIA informant. Criminal hunting seemed to- if not had to- be genetic in my pool of friends. I'd kill to have Sydney's job some days. Ironic, considering she was an assassin. "How long is she staying?"

I shrugged. "A day? A week? A month? Who knows with her. All I know is I'm going to get my ass handed to me if I'm late. Again." Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. Sydney worked for an intelligence agency, firmly staying on the sidelines of any real action. Fighting wasn't in her resume. One thing she _was_ good at doing though was chewing me out. I guessed it came with her interrogation skills. "I wasn't even supposed to be on call today," I admitted.

Taking out my hair tie, I shook out my tangled mass of dark waves before running through it with my fingers. "Your clothes gives it away a lot quicker than your hair," Mason pointed out.

I glanced down. He was right. It was already dusk, no time to run to my apartment for a new outfit. I sighed, muttering, "Figures." Ignoring my blazer entirely, my hands busied with rolling up my white, button-down's sleeves, going for a chic-business woman look. Actually, I realized, my attire was a mirror of Sydney's- one I constantly poked fun at. Instead of lingering on the horror of the thought, I shoved it aside, remembering the pressure of time. Maybe it would score a couple points in my favor.

Mason lingered in the background, clearly entertained by my distress. His amusement, and surprise, grew when he caught sight of what was on my wrist. "I never thought I'd see the day. Rose Hathaway, you've been converted."

Following his gaze, I found my _chotki_, an old, Romanian cross, dangling there. I shot him a scandalous look at the accusation. "You think a Jehovah Witness convinced me to give up sleeping in on Sundays in exchange for purifying my soul? Not even God has the power to pull me out of bed."

Mason smiled. "Oh please, with that attitude, I'm surprised he hasn't shot you down yet."

"Hey, the big guy knows where I stand on the whole religious aspect," I protested. "Besides, I'm pretty sure he has better things to do then throw lightning at a 27-year old detective who bailed Sunday school."

"So, what, you're trying to gain extra credit and pretending you've seen the light by wearing a cross?"

I feigned surprise. "Mason, I'm shocked. You think I'd try to pull a fast one on Jesus?" The jaded look he gave me answered for him. I rolled my eyes. "Such lack of faith. But, no, for the record, I'm not scamming God." I flashed him a devil-may-care grin along with a glimpse of the _chotki._ "Think of it as a good luck charm."

"Like you need luck," he said wryly.

"You'd be surprised," I answered. "For example, I need all the luck I can get to beat 5 o'clock traffic."

With that, and a quick panicked look at my watch, I half-walked, half-jogged back to my car, my joking nature fading. As I traded my boots for black pumps, I felt a internal sigh press against my chest, heavy as lead. Man. So much for being the life of the party.

Sliding into the drivers seat, I lifted the back of my wrist, studying the _chotki._ It's silver exterior shone and tinting warmly under the sunset's rays. The cross was intricate, a rare artifact that had been passed through generations while still maintaining its hardiness. I might not have been converted into the house of God, but I could still appreciate its beauty. Especially since Lissa, my best friend, was the one to give it to me.

I didn't usually wear it on the job, but I'd slipped it on without thought this morning. No matter how many witty lines I threw around with Mason or how many criminals I tackled, it didn't change my current mood. Which, frankly, sucked. I finally let out the loud sigh I'd been reigning in and pressed my forehead against the leather steering wheel.

The _chotki_ reminded me of something.

As if wanting to punish myself more, I went against my better judgment and opened the tiny compartment underneath the radio in the dashboard. Ignoring the fact that it was supposed to be an ashtray, I'd come to stowing small things in there: coins, hair ties, rings, irreplaceable, nickle-size pendants from a formal lover I hadn't seen in half a decade- you know, the usual.

Not daring to touch it, I eyed the _nazar_, the blue, eye-like amulet staring back. It wasn't blue eyes that danced across my vision though. Deep brown orbs that mirrored my own bombarded my memories, followed by a rare yet full smile, chin-length dark hair, a light, Russian accent...

I slammed my head into the steering wheel, this time the car's horn wailing with me. Christ. What the hell was I doing? I hadn't thought about him in months. And yet, here I was, a masochist in the making. I closed the compartment, lifting my head after I deemed it safe for my own sanity. From the startled and annoyed looks of passing pedestrians, it was clear they thought I'd already lost it.

I breathed out, forcing myself to regain my composure and whatever little self-control I possessed. Distraction was what I needed. Turning the key in the ignition, I flipped on the radio.

1980's music that was probably the biggest hit in Siberia at the moment came pouring out of the sound waves. Nostalgia washed over me and I hastily turned the dial, wanting to escape it as soon as possible. A country station came on. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

Shutting off the radio altogether, I revved the engine- something car-loving Sydney Sage would have scolded me for- and took off down the streets of Boston. I gunned it, needing the harsh beating of the wind to pull me back to the present and _keep_ me there. Because I knew if I continued lingering in the past, I was going to drown in it.

After a couple minutes, I once again gained enough common sense to finally pay attention to the traffic laws in front of me. I was actually a little surprised I hadn't gotten pulled over for reckless driving. I stopped at a red light, sinking back into my seat and exhaling. The fresh air had helped clear my head like I'd hoped it would. My biggest worry was, again, making it to the bar on time. I figured the bottle of champagne in the back seat would be a satisfactory apology. Not that Sydney really cared if I was late, seeing as that was typical for me-

My phone rang out of nowhere, startling me from my thoughts. "Christ," I exclaimed to no one in particular. How did she know I was talking about her?

But, startling enough, it wasn't Sydney's name that popped up on the screen. It was Mason's. Hadn't I just left him ten minutes ago? The light turned green as I picked up. Normally I yelled at people that talked on the phone while driving, but, well, this was official police business. I could afford to bend the rules a little. "What, you miss my company already?" I asked.

"Something like that." Though his tone was as light as mine, it was shadowed by something heavier. "I think you might have to break your dinner plans tonight, Rose." I frowned as he continued, "There's a murder up in Quincy, possibly a missing person, too. Alberta wants us on it ASAP."

_Of course._ I sighed. A part of me wanted to reject the case right away, already feeling overwhelmed without the new addition. But... I couldn't just ignore it either. My sense of justice notwithstanding, Alberta specifically called us out on it. She was one of our superiors, and one I held in high regards. If she wanted me on it, then what choice did I have? Knowing I would regret this later, I caved and said, "Fine, I'll be there in thirty."

"I'll be waiting," he said grandly before letting me go.

Tossing my phone aside, I changed my course, cutting across two lanes of traffic. An angry soccer mom in an SUV ripped on her horn. "This day just gets better and better," I muttered.

***

Lights already flooded the crime scene by the time I arrived, police and reporters scattered over the lawn of the house. Heels clacking against the pavement, I saw to my chagrin another detective amicably chatting with the media. To make things worse, I recognized him instantly. "Stan," I called, pointedly cutting off whatever he was about to say.

His eyes flickered to me before turning them heavenward, clearly anything but thrilled to see me. The feeling was mutual. "Hathaway, should have known you'd show up. What are you doing here? This isn't your case."

Ignoring his jabs, I put my hands on my hips, replying, "It is now hotshot, I just talked to the commander. Where's Mason? He said he'd be here."

Stan scowled at this new information, not liking I'd stolen the case but obliged to follow orders, jerked his head toward the left. Sure enough, my partner, originally obscured by shadows, walked over to the edge of the police tape. Mason's eyes reflected his relief that I'd shown up. He didn't handle murder scenes as well as I did and was glad to have backup- even if that backup constantly teased him about his unease. I ducked underneath to the other side and, not wasting time, asked, "So where's the crime scene, partner?"

"Follow your nose, it might bring back some memories," Stan's suddenly smug voice interrupted from behind.

I shot him a look over my shoulder. I was never one for inside jokes unless I made them. It didn't help that I wasn't in a very fun mood to begin with. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll see. Have fun, Hathaway." I watched his retreating figure for a second more before sharing a questioning glance with Mason, turning back and refocusing my attention.

Strolling into the mansion-like home, I searched my surroundings, sharpening my senses for anything unusual but coming up short. That is, until I saw Mia Rinaldi, the other detective in my unit, greet us inside. It was rare to see her arrive first- especially since she was supposed to be soaking up sun in California right now, not checking out a killing back home. "Mia, I thought you were still on vacation." I said, surprised. Her skin was still it's usual pale, definitely not the tan I'd expected. Even her worn golden curls and azure eyes looked washed out.

Her grimace spoke legends. "I cut it short. It's bad in there, Rose, worse than you think."

Wow. Encouraging words. None the less, I strode into a living room that only money could buy, Lissa looking up from her work as I did. In front of her, turned away from me, was the body. It would figure that my best friend was a medical examiner. Lissa, like me, had a strong sense of justice but used her wits instead of body strength to take down the bad guys. After all, her dainty, slim silhouette was about as helpful in hand-to-hand combat as her no-violence rule. Knowledge was where she strived. Personally I didn't see the attraction in examining and cutting up corpses, but I'd given up trying to make sense of it a long time ago. To each their own.

Rounding the couch, I realized just how grisly the scene was, a faint wave of nausea washing over me as I took it in. I wouldn't have been surprised if Mason passed out. The victim, a 34-year old doctor according to Mia, who was reciting what she knew in the background, was gagged and bound by duck tape, leaving his limbs immobilized. Vacant eyes stared up at the ceiling while blood stained and covered his abdomen. I doubted all the bleach in the world could save his white shirt now; not that he needed it. His throat had been cut clean open.

"There are signs of forced entry," continued Mia, "but none of the neighbors appear to have heard anything. His newly-wedded wife, Gabrielle, is missing."

Those words sent a chill through me. They were too familiar. Studying the sickening wound once more, I dragged my gaze away to look around, an ominous feeling gnawing at my chest. Everything about this was nostalgic. It couldn't be though... could it?

That's when I spotted it. My blood ran cold as I stared, frozen. A spilled tea cup had rolled underneath the coffee table, a part of the rim chipped. The dark brown stain splashed across the carpet, mirroring the spilled blood close by.

I bent down, eyes on it. "Let me get this straight," I said. "We have a dead guy's throat cut perfectly open, recently married, wife is missing..." I looped a finger through the handle, picking up the ceramic piece and glancing back up to Lissa and Mia. Both were already looking at me, Mason long since ditched at the sight of blood. I smiled bittersweetly. "And there's a tea cup at the scene."

"Oh my God," Lissa breathed, straightening, her halo of white-blond hair falling back like a curtain. She'd picked up what I already had. The tea cup was his tale-tell mark. She turned to Mia, incredulous. "Mia! Why didn't you warn us? At least warn Rose!"

"Is he out?" I demanded before she could put in a word, standing. "Is Dashkov out?"

"No, of course not!" Mia assured quickly, glancing between us. It was rare we teamed up on her, especially sweet, angelic Lissa. "I didn't tell you because I wanted your unbiased opinion." She nodded toward the body as I made my way to it again, voice solemn. "It looks like his work, doesn't it?"

I studied the victim again, eyes sharp, before shaking my head in disgust. I pointed at him, fiercely growling at Mia, "We locked that bastard away, Mia, you tell me how this is possible."

Mia, trying to be reasonable, said, "Look, we've got a copycat on our hands, that's all."

I steadied my breathing. A copycat would explain everything, even the tea cup. Still, my instincts refused to believe such a simply beautiful explanation, the knot in my gut tightening. Damn. I had to be sure. Facing him again, I tilted Dr. Colbe's neck away, my gloved fingers brushing against two marks.

Some days I wished my instincts were wrong. "Stun gun." I heard Lissa suck in a breath. "Just like Dashkov's victims."

"Anyone could have picked up a newspaper or seen that on the news," Mia protested.

I said nothing at first, my mind spinning with revelations. "Except we never released this detail," I said quietly, dropping my hand.

Dashkov. Victor Dashkov. There was no doubt about it. The infamous serial killer I'd helped throw into jail had somehow committed another murder. The same serial killer that had taken over 20 lives had pulled off another murder when he was supposed to be locked safely away... The same man that had tried to make _me_ his next victim, and was hell-bent on completing his goal and sending me to the land of the dead.

I seriously needed an aspirin.


	3. Comrade

When I slipped back into consciousness the next morning, it was to find an angel had woken we up. Or, well, the closest thing to an angel I'd probably ever see.

Lissa, refined in white heels, a matching button-down coat, and a jade dress, was leaning over me, her concern vivid. By the cup of herbal tea in her hands, I knew she was getting a jump-start to her day (caffeine-free) and had just gotten into work- not expecting to see me dead-asleep at my desk. Really though, she should have expected anything from me by now. "What are you doing, sleeping here? Don't tell me you pulled an all-nighter just to search for evidence!"

It was scary how well she knew me sometimes. Raising my head from my crossed arms over top my desk, I ran a hand through my tangled hair, blinking uncomfortably as sunlight streamed in through the windows. "What time is it?" I asked, my voice muffled from exhaustion.

"It's already eight." By the note in her voice, it was clear she considered that too late to be sleeping in. For me, having crashed at five in the morning, it was way too early.

I stifled a yawn and stretched my arms overhead like a cat, my aching back complaining at the motion. I really had to stop sleeping wherever I pleased. "I was reviewing old cases with Dashkov. Evidence, connections, my testimony, and all of that."

Lissa's worry grew. "Rose... you don't have to take this case, I'm sure Stan or someone else could-"

"No," I stated firmly. "I'm catching this copycat bastard and throwing him in jail where he belongs."

"But-"

I stood up, shaking my head to prove she couldn't change my mind before giving her a small smile. "Don't worry, Liss, I can take care of myself. Hey, I'll even be careful."

I could tell she wasn't convinced, but let it go and changed topics."You should clean up soon. No offense, but you look awful. Also. . ." she hesitated, before continuing, "I heard Alberta's pulling in an FBI agent. He's coming in today."

I actually didn't take offense- I could have guessed my disastrous appearance- but was caught off guard at the end. "Why, because of the murder?" It was the only reasonable guess I could come up with. Even then though that was a flimsy reason, and I knew it. Murders happened all the time, sad but true. This was Boston after all.

Lissa shrugged. "I don't know much, only that he's some badass you'll want to impress. Mia's running around making sure everyone's in line." She paused again, a keen glint in her eyes. "Do you think it's someone you know?"

Lissa knew almost everything about me, including my rocky history. I'd almost become an FBI agent myself. As soon as I'd met the 22-year old age requirement, I'd taken the first assessments and passed the with flying colors. However, when I got to the academy, due to my unusual young age and huge advantage in physical training, I was given a different level of challenge- which included a personal teacher.

One of the only things I'd never told Lissa was my relationship with Dimitri. I brushed over the name once in a while, but that was the extent of it. To her and the rest of the world, he was simply my mentor. Which was exactly how I liked it, and how I hoped it stayed.

During the last stretch of time before graduation, I abruptly dropped out of the program. I didn't tell anyone why, only giving a simple shrug when they asked. Even Kirvana, the bitchy head of the academy, was aghast at my leaving when I was "the best of the best". I could understand their confusion, but firmly refused to give a reason until they gave up and let me go. I settled for becoming part of the police force, following Lissa to her hometown and later raising my status to detective. Of course, I still kept my contacts within the FBI, Dimitri excluded.

I shrugged, as way of answer. "Don't know really. I haven't been keeping many tabs on them. But who knows?" Fate, as I'd come to know, worked in damned mysterious ways.

She looked disappointed at my vague reply, but accepted it nonetheless. She'd probably hoped to share stories about me over tea and coffee. Lord. It was like high school all over again. Her lips twitched into a small smile as she looked at me and said, "I wasn't joking about Mia being on a rampage. You know how she is with the superiors."

Oh, did I ever. Mia was usually pretty level-headed, but was still the head of my unit. She was the one that took the heat from the higher-ups and had made it clear countless times how I should appear in front of them. I glanced down at my disheveled clothing. "Christ, she'll kick me out all day if she sees me like this."

"Which is why I told you to clean up."

I groaned. "At least this place has a shower." A homicide detective's perks. I eyed Lissa. "You wouldn't happen to have some makeup and a change of clothes, would you?"

She did. This was Lissa Dragomir after all, always thinking ahead. And, like the gracious best friend she was, rooted through her office and offered powder (why she kept one in my shade was beyond me), mascara, and eyeliner, my elation soaring at my good fortune. It stumbled a little when she presented her extra outfit. "That... I can't go to work in that."

"Sure you can! Not to mention it's a sure-fire way of impressing our mysterious guest."

"Key word, mysterious. We don't even know if it's a girl or guy," I pointed out. "And either way, I'm not going to try to seduce my boss. Even I know not to cross that line." How times changed.

"Not seduce, impress. Big difference," Lissa assured. Her optimism amazed me sometimes. "Besides, wearing a dress won't kill you."

No, but it would definitely kill whatever remained of my own badass aura. I sighed and shook my head. "Thanks, but I think I'll stick with this." Admittedly, the mahogany dress hanging next to her desk was cute, and I'd probably look great in it, but it was more of a clubbing outfit than one you'd interrogate killers in. I was pretty sure Mia wouldn't be thrilled seeing me in my same attire, but would roll with it better than if I showed up about to go to a frat party.

Twenty minutes later, I reemerged into my department looking like a decent human being, feeling more at peace after getting cleaned up. Mason was already at his post, glancing up at my arrival with his usual easy-going smile. I could tell it was slightly forced though, not quite reaching his eyes. No doubt he was cautious about how I was doing after the nightmare I'd experienced yesterday. Always observant, he also took note of the papers sprawled haphazardly on my desk and my refusal to change. "You didn't go home yesterday? Even you need your beauty sleep once in a while, Rose. Though you still look devastating without it, of course."

I smiled back at him, appreciating his attempt at our normal banter. He knew I didn't like people acting careful around me. I'd rather they say things flat-out instead of protecting me, like I was fragile enough to break. "Hey, have to keep you on your toes," I answered flippantly, throwing my jacket over my chair. I looked around. "Where's Mia? Still with Mister secret agent?"

He seemed surprised I knew about the FBI arrival. "You heard. Yes, last I checked. She's pretty stressing out about looking good in front of him. She's probably showing him around now."

Huh. I frowned slightly, brooding. Most of the time Alberta gave us a better heads-up than just mindless gossip to flit around the office. Something was off here. Then again, I could just be reading too much into it. "Who's this guy supposed to be anyway?"

Mason knew about as much as Lissa did, if not less. He shrugged haplessly. "No clue. All I know is I'm staying out Mia's way until she's done dressing to impress."

I chuckled, imagining little doll-like Mia forcing Mason into suit and gagging him with the tie. I'd have to plant that idea in her head sometime. "You brave-hearted man. Well, I don't exactly intend to cozy up to them either right now. I better grab some coffee though, just in case I do end up facing them. You need anything?"

"Naw, just be sure to hurry. Mia won't be happy if you bail on the introduction."

"Will do," I said. Taking the steps two at a time (a pain, since I was still in my heels), I quickly arrived at the quaint cafe upstairs and saw it was relatively empty, the short line and lingering patrons abuzz with conversation. Strolling over, I checked my phone, realizing I hadn't glanced at it since I'd talked to Mason in the car.

Five new messages and seven missed calls welcomed me. Oops. I scrolled through the texts first, a little caught off guard that one of them was from Janine Hathaway, my not-so-warm-and-fuzzy mother. She had heard about the Dashkov case from her "sources". Literally, that's what she said. Her "sources". It was like we were in a bad spy movie. I shook my head in wonder as I continued through my list of angry messages and voice mails from Sydney. I could probably go to trial with some of the threats she sent me.

I tucked my cell away, resolving to call her back later. After the guy in front of me- Eddie, I faintly recalled- happily left, doughnut in hand, I ordered my coffee and waited while the cashier rung me up.

Try as I might, my weary thoughts continually drifted back to Victor Dashkov. My all-nighter had proved of little help, turning up no new information, only old scars. I sighed, hating how literal that was. Tangling with a psycho killer hadn't left me unscathed. But, considering I could have ended up like Dr. Colbe, I was lucky to still be breathing.

My phone, buzzing violently, brought me stumbling out of my thoughts. I picked it up just as the gruff cashier handed me my coffee, a small, grateful smile playing on my lips. I would have smiled at just about anyone that could whip up my mocha. "Hathaway," I answered, turning and gingerly sipping the scolding drink. Ugh. Needed more sugar.

"Rose! About time you answered. I've left you like thirty messages, where have you been?" Ah, Sydney Sage, as charismatic as ever. She'd taken the liberty of calling me back herself.

"What, you don't know? Aren't you supposed to be all-powerful, Sydney? I thought that's what you're line of work called for."

"Ha, cute." Apparently she didn't find my early morning humor as funny as I did. "Look, first you bailed on dinner then-"

"Whoa, whoa, you know I didn't have a choice back then," I said, thinking it was a little unfair for her to play that card. She'd skipped out on plenty of our get-togethers without so much as a sticky note. Once I'd waited hours in the airport for her arrival, even falling asleep (and losing my lone designer bag in the process), only to find out she'd been pulled for a mission. I was still skeptical how her phone mysteriously kept breaking down during those times."If you wanted bonding time that badly, you should have come to the crime scene. It was right up your alley."

"Right," she said dryly. "Because the first thing local PD wants to see is an assassin freeloading on their ground."

I shrugged. "I would have gotten you clearance. Maybe. Somehow." I was pretty sure there was a back entrance I could have snuck her through. I put the phone in the crook of my shoulder as I dumped two sugar packets into my coffee. Reconsidering, I added a third. "Anyway, I'm guessing you heard about the Dashkov thing?"

Her attitude dried up. She was all business again. "Yeah. I did. Did you find anything out? No doubt you were scouting around the past 12 hours."

Geez. Was I that much of an open book? I sighed. "No, not much. I checked with the guards at the prison. Victor's still under heavy lock and key and they swear up and down he wasn't out of his jail cell yesterday, even for yard work. He hasn't made a call or met with someone since the 3rd of last month. It just doesn't add up." Of course I already knew Victor hadn't broken out of jail. _That_ news would have spread like wildfire. He'd probably be the biggest hit on the _10 Most Wanted_ board in a long time. I hesitated, then deciding it couldn't hurt, asked, "What do you make of it, Syd?" She was high intelligence, she could brainstorm some kind of answer, right?

She gave one of her famous, exasperated sighs. "I don't know, Rose. You know him better than I do at this point." I winced, but she continued, obliviously. "My best guess? He's got an apprentice, someone he trained. There's no way he did this with his own hands, but I don't think it was just some nut off the streets that copied his moves either."

"An apprentice..." I murmured. Not a copycat, but someone he took under his wing. My mind kicked into overdrive as I grasped onto Sydney's theory, shoving my sluggish lack of sleep out of the way. Victor was a doctor formally, which is why his cutting was so acute when it came to slicing people's jugulars- and why he was always a prime suspect when someone's throat was slit. He was an ace in his field before he got kicked out of his university, and clearly had maintained his skills. See one, do one, teach one: that's what they taught you in medical school. Lissa could vouch for that along with the rest of her department. Victor was also pretty damn smart. In my crazy roller coaster of a life, I always pictured him as an evil mastermind. If he had taught someone to kill before he was locked away, that person would know all of his tricks, how to kill, how to hide, how to leave the perfect trail...

A trail that would be led me right back to Victor.

I shot up ramrod-straight, almost knocking over my coffee in the process. I hadn't even realized I'd sworn out loud until I noticed it had earned me a dirty look from the grandpa-aged cashier. Sydney's startlement on the other end tipped me off, too. "What's wrong?" she demanded uncertainly, as if afraid I'd just been taken out by a Dashkov-trained army. In reality, that wasn't too far out there. If there was one thing Victor wanted, it was me. To finish what he started.

"I think you're right Sydney," I said quickly, fumbling to grab my mocha before rushing back downstairs.

I'd lost her. "Right about what?"

"Victor! He has an apprentice!" All of the puzzle pieces were clicking together. "It explains everything. He still wants to kill me, don't you get it? He's trying to lure me out by sending someone else to do his dirty work."

The idea that innocent people had to die just for him to finish his twisted game made me feel sick, even responsible. I hadn't been the one to end their lives, true, but I was the reason. I didn't know who was listening, but I sent a quick, silent prayer that we would find Gabrielle alive. They didn't deserve this. I was the one he wanted dead.

"Hey, whoa, Rose, calm down. It was just a theory," Sydney protested. I decided that was a humble understatement. It might not be set in stone yet, but it was a marvelous deduction on her part. If I wasn't so pent-up crazy with everything going on, I would have whooped in excitement at the break through.

Even though I didn't start dancing in the hallway, I still found myself grinning like a goofy idiot as I ran. Some people I passed gave me an odd look, probably wondering why I was smiling in light of recent events. "Just wait Sydney Sage, that theory's going to become fact soon, I'm sure of it. God, I could kiss you right now. Well, no, not that far. But you're definitely getting a hug from me when I see you."

I don't think Sydney was all that disappointed in missing my kiss. I never found out for sure though. I could hear her making some sarcastic remark on her end, but only caught her biting tone, not her words. My attention was diverted, rapt ahead on a man who'd just stepped out of the hallway. A guy I just barely stopped myself from running into, my coffee sloshing messily as I stumbled to a halt in front of him.

His eyes reflected minor surprise at my appearance, but his growing smile said that not much about me surprised him anymore. _I_ was the one staring up in disbelief at the older, suit-clad man. "Mark?" I exclaimed.

I couldn't believe it. You'd think with all the insanity running around, a surprise visit would be the last thing to catch me off guard. Mark was a guy creeping close to 50 and happily married, his brown hair giving way to a George Clooney, salt-and-pepper look. He also happened to be one of my old teachers- one I often treated as a fatherly figure. He laughed. "You act like you've seen a ghost, Rose. Has it been that long?"

I could feel my old grin return and, before I could stop myself, threw myself into a hug with him, disregarding Sydney and the hot beverage in my hands. By some miracle it didn't spill. "Mark!" I said, still at an uncharacteristic loss of words. He laughed again and spun me around. He really was a father in the making. I hoped he had kids soon. (The clock was running out in that department). When he set me down, we'd switched positions, this time my back facing the open door. Eagerly, I asked, "What are you doing here? I haven't seen you in years!"

His smile crinkled his eyes. "I'm on duty. The FBI wanted me in."

I brightened more, if possible. "You're the one going to be working with us?" I might be walking on eggshells when it came to my relationship with the FBI, but I could definitely work with Mark. In fact, he could probably help more than anyone else they could have sent.

To my disappointment though, he shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I'm only escorting today."

Bemusement flickered across my features, dimming my excitement a little. Since when was the FBI a delivery service? My old worries crept back, but I tried to hide it, keeping my tone light. "Oh? And who exactly are you escorting? Or is that a secret, too?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but another voice cut him off. A voice that made me freeze and lock up, ice and heat crawling over my skin in a flash. A voice I hadn't heard in 5 years. "Roza?"

My eyes snapped open and I whipped around so fast, I could have passed for having vampire-enhanced reflexes. Mark flinched in the background, but he didn't. He never did. His shock was a mirror of mine, incredulity nailing us to the floor as we stared at one another in the hallway. His silhouette took up the entire height and width of the door frame, the air around him clinging with that pine-like aftershave I could have identified a mile away.

No. No, no, _no._ This wasn't happening. My senses were playing a trick on me.

I was about to write it off as a hallucination, a fallacy from the result of my overactive imagination and tired, senseless thoughts clashing. Because, bottom line, this could _not_ be real. It just couldn't. My nostalgic daydreams were being manifested into a screwy (albeit gorgeous) phantom of my old teacher and companion. That was all there was to it. Simple. Case closed.

But, before I could fully convince myself I'd lost it and needed serious time in therapy, Mia appeared behind him, pleasant air the last thing I expected with the impossible scene before her. A thousand questions sprung into my mind, but they were as jumbles as my emotions and I couldn't voice any of them. I just kept staring at him, lips parted with no words coming out. I don't think I could pry my eyes away or make a coherent sentence to save my life.

Mia glanced between us, finally seeming to pick up that she'd stumbled onto something big. I hadn't realized how dense she could be. That was usually Sydney's job in the dating game. By then I gained enough presence of mind to clamp my lips together, swallowing, though our gaze remained locked together. I'd forgotten how easily it was to fall into that endless, dark sea. Slowly, I turned away to Mia, silently pleading that she had some idea what in the living hell was going on here. God knows I didn't. In fact, I probably could have passed the part of looking like someone that needed to be shut inside a mental asylum, delusion or no.

Mia hesitated. It was a measure of how well I rolled with (and dealt with) craziness that I didn't pass out as she gestured to Dimitri and uneasily said, "Well, Rose, I see you've met the new addition to our team."

**Ohoho, and Dimitri Belikov enters the scene once again- though I'm positive all of you could have seen that one coming. Let's face it, there's no VA story if our main couple isn't it. Hopefully this chapter wasn't too rushed, I tend to jump the gun on scene setting and getting straight to the action. Can you blame me with these two?**


	4. What Could Go Wrong?

My earlier conversation with Lissa about knowing better than seducing my new partner came back to me. Damn it. Why did irony have to be such a bitch? I should save myself the trouble and staple my lips together.

I had no idea how to react.

It was one of those rare moments that I, Rose Hathaway, was completely lost in how to proceed as I stared at Dimitri, my former-teacher-turned-lover-turned-FBI-consultant. I had to gamble on my options here. I _could_ ignore the vicious voices screaming in my head to punch him and be polite, shake his hand diplomatically, leaving the past behind us to start anew as comrades once again. Yeah. That was one option. Unfortunately, hell would freeze over before that happened. I wasn't the type to swallow my pride and pretend everything was fine when I wanted to break his kneecaps like my missing, mobster father.

My second brilliant idea was to turn on him now and see if the student had surpassed the teacher in hand-to-hand combat. A black eye wouldn't mess up his pretty face too badly, but it would prove a point not to show up after kicking him out of my life. I had a feeling though that if Mia was worried about my clothes in front of the new guy, she'd go into cardiac arrest if I attacked him. I was too closely attached to my newest case to risk getting fired, my grudge against Dimitri notwithstanding.

The third option was not dealing with him at all. Now, was that the best thing to do? I didn't know. Would it even make a difference? I didn't know that either. All I knew was that with everything else running around in my head, the last thing I needed was my heart to be in chaos, too. Already those locked up feelings I associated with him were beginning to surface again, bursting in my chest in waves. Longing. Elation. Sadness. Anger. God, why did everything have to be so complicated? _Because this is life. Nothing's easy,_ a small voice whispered. I kind of wanted to shoot that voice.

Clinging onto my last resort, I tried to suppress my anger- at Dimitri, her, the world- and focused on Mia, refusing to look at him. I had to admit that was easier said than done. He cleaned up well and had gone all-out today. Not only had he shaved and done his hair, but he was wearing the standard men-in-black suit that screamed FBI agent. On him, it was devastating. I'd only seen him in it a handful of times yet the impact, unfortunately for me, was the same.

I did a good act of feigning ignorance though.

"Yeah. We've met," I told her, trying to keep the stiffness from my voice. It only partially worked. "Look, I've got to go talk to Mase."

Mia looked puzzled at my vexation. She knew about him being my teacher and probably expected me to run into Dimitri's arms like I had Mark. If only. Composing herself, she said, "Rose, don't you think-"

"Sorry, I'm in a bit of a rush," I cut her off, already turning my back on them. I seriously needed to get out of here. His presence was all but suffocating me. Or that could just be the after shave again. Relying on an old trick of mine, I threw a standard Rose line over my shoulder as a scapegoat as I half-jogged off. "Ring me up when you're done recruiting foreign labor, Mia."

"Rose!" she exclaimed harshly, but I ignored her and kept going. I could hear her quickly apologizing for my behavior, telling Dimitri my latest case had me under a lot of stress. Dimitri, recovering from his shock in that warrior-like way of his, assured her it was fine and he understood. I snorted. Like hell he understood. He was just playing professional like Mia. I checked my phone but, as expected, Sydney had hung up.

I swung the door into my branch, Mason glancing up and immediately recognizing my pissed-off look. "Uh-oh. What happened? They run of mochas?"

I shot him a look. "I wish that was all there was." My head was still reeling. Dimitri. Dimitri was here. How? Why? Damn, damn, damn- my word of the day. This was _not _supposed to happen. Setting down my coffee, I ripped my blazer off the back of chair, shoving my arms into the sleeves. Like in the car, I needed distraction before I ended up socking someone or putting a dent in the wall. Luckily, there was an ace up my sleeve this time that'd spare the collateral damage. "Don't worry about it right now. We're up, partner."

He looked pleasantly surprised. "Where are we going?"

"Prison to interrogate Dashkov. If my theory's right then-"

Before I could take two steps, a tiny whirlwind stormed into the office. It was a wonder papers didn't get caught up in the hurricane-like frenzy. I forgot how different Mia looked when she was angry. And boy, was she angry. She leveled her gaze on me, like a missal finding its target. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mason shrink back, not about to get tangled into the match. _My hero_. "Rose," Mia warned, her voice pitched low. "Do you care to explain what in the living hell you just did?"

Disbelief shot through me. "_Me?_ How could you blame this on me?"

"'Foreign labor'?" she quoted. Okay, that hadn't been one of my finer moments. It clearly hadn't gotten me out unscathed either. "Are you _trying_ to get me fired?"

I didn't know where it came from, but my temper flared up. Sure, it was trigger-happy at times but the sharpness in my voice even surprised me. "Hey, you cannot pin all of this on me. First you jump me with the crime scene last night, now this?" I reprimanded, the bite in my words unmistakable. I knew it wasn't exactly fair to pile all the blame on her, but really, she could have given me a heads-up. Between that, my current lack of sleep, and my pent-up frustration with Dashkov and Dimitri...well. I would have snapped at just about anyone.

Mia's eyes hardened, her blue orbs turning to ice. Despite my lashing out at her, I realized she _did_ feel bad about springing the surprise attacks- but not bad enough to back down. "Look, I'm sorry about last night, but you knew he was coming-"

"No," I cut her off pointedly, "you told me a higher-up was coming, you never once said his name. Christ, Mia, do you want me to die from a stroke?" I sighed, trying to shove my temper down. All of Dimitri's lessons and lectures on self-control came back to me, despite the fact his appearance is what was making me lose it now. It was almost funny. Almost. "Forget it. I don't have time for this. Where's your Prince Charming?"

"Mark and Alberta are wrapping up the tour," she informed me, her tone still laced with disapproval. Oh man. I'd forgotten about Alberta. She normally wasn't one for sanctioning me like Kirova or Mia but there was a first time for everything. Even though Mia was still put-out with me, I could see that curious, detective-worthy glint return to her eyes as she crossed her arms. "So where are you going that's so urgent?"

"I might have a break in the case," I told her truthfully, not about to go into the whole my-friend-assassin-might-have-put-in-a-tip thing. I clipped my badge onto my belt. "I'm going to visit Dashkov in jail and see if I can get answers out of him."

Mia, detouring down an entirely different road, exclaimed, "That's all of this is about? Rose, I don't want you anywhere near him!"

Now I was the one staring at her, starstruck. That was _not _the reaction I was expecting. "What are you talking about? I'm working the case and all the arrows are pointing to Dashkov."

"He's luring you out!" she said, piecing together what Sydney and I already had. I shouldn't have been surprised. She wasn't a rank above me for nothing. "And you're going to go right into his nest?"

"I'm not about to run away," I argued.

"He made you a victim, you're not a cop right now!"

I was on the brink of a snappy retort when the words died on my lips. _He made you a victim._

It clicked together. Looking at her fierce air, I realized the reason for her sudden protectiveness. It didn't stem from her wanting to hinder my case as payback for the set-back with Dimitri- Mia was above that sort of thing. Besides, it technically was her case, too. She wasn't an idiot. No, it was because...

"_What are you doing, Hathaway?" Mia asked desperately, her voice scared enough to rival my fear as she bent down to examine the damage. I was shaking, in physical shock, unable to process anything except the pain in my hands and neck. _

_Victor. What had happened to Victor? When I'd woken up from being knocked out cold, it was to find his haughty, smiling face over me, pressing a scalpel at my throat. There were already two in my hands, driving through them into the floor. He was cooing sweet things to me, trying to reason and calm me._

_Pain. So much pain. That same agony was slowly being dragged against my throat, the adrenaline pumping through me vainly rushing to numb it. _

_Then, like a switch, it stopped. There was a gunshot and Victor vanished from my line of view. Now Mia's face was the only one I saw, eclipsing the faint, basement light. I was whimpering, making incoherent mumbles as she cupped my cheek, forcing me to look at her. "Focus, Rose, hang in there. Everything's fine now. Everything's fine. I'm here."_

_I don't know why, but through my haze, I remember clinging on and having faith in those cliché assurances. A lot more than I did Victor's._

Mason hadn't always been my partner. Originally, it was Mia, before Mason joined the tag team. Originally, Mia was my partner. And she had been the one to save me from Dashkov.

"You're right," I said.

"I... what?"

I smiled. She wasn't used to me agreeing with something reasonable. "You're right, I am a victim. But that's why I have to do this. It should be good for me, you know? Facing my fear and everything. Besides, I want to put this apprentice or copycat or whatever behind bars. I won't let him play this same game with me again."

Mia was still at a loss for words. I stepped forward. "Don't worry. This isn't like last time." I put back on my flippant air to back up my words. "By tomorrow we'll solve everything, kick this guy's ass, and then celebrate with our usual Tuesday rounds at the bar."

A smile crept onto her face, despite herself. "When'd you get so cocky? Don't forget you're still buying."

"Yeah, yeah," I waved her off. "That's assuming I don't win the bet on the Jet's game. Then you're going to be ringing up my beers all night."

She rolled her eyes, but I could see some of that concerned edge ebb away. "Right. Well I still have to deal with leads to finding Gabrielle. Check in to see if you get Dashkov to talk and then follow up with Lissa to see if she got anything from Colbe."

I made a mock salute with two fingers. "Coming right up, Mia." I glanced back at Mason. "Go ahead of me, I'll check in with Liss before we head out and clear it out of the way."

Lissa was well under way with the autopsy when I arrived. She probably wasn't expecting visitors, seeing as she was on the floor under the main one and clad in scrubs and a faceshield. "Attractive," I noted as she glanced up.

"Are you talking to me or him?" she asked wryly, nodding to the body.

"Both, but mostly you." I walked in, unable to not feel a little creeped out by the sterile walls and gray metal tables. It boggled my mind that she sought out and earnestly enjoyed this job. The whole setting screamed horror movie to me. "Got anything?"

She shook her head, grimacing. "Just that the width and precision of the cut matches Dashkov's scalpels."

"He should come out with his own line. I bet it'd be a best seller."

"I highly doubt that." She studied me for a second, her eyes not missing a beat. "You're keyed-up pretty badly. Jaw line's tense," she added when I opened my mouth to ask how she could tell. Some days she could practically read my mind. "What happened?"

I sighed. "Long story. I'll fill you in later. Right now Mase is waiting for me, I just thought I'd check in."

"Sorry I don't have more," Lissa said. "I'll call you if anything new comes up."

"I'm counting on it," I said gallantly, pushing back out the door and taking the elevator back up the main lobby. It was primarily empty this time a day, the security officer at the scanner looking bored to death and probably contemplating bailing. I wouldn't blame him if he did. I barely took ten steps before a familiar, accented voice stopped me.

"Rose," Dimitri called, catching my wrist from behind. Electricity crackled at the contact, completely blindsiding me. Oh come _on. _I was supposed to be mad at him, not ramped up at the slightest touch. I had a feeling we'd still be sexually charged around each other even if we bumped into each other at the North Pole 50 years from now.

By the wince and brief flash of regret across his face as he dropped his hold, I knew he'd experience the same thing I had. A part of me couldn't stand that regret, but it got outvoted. Mostly because I regretted it, too. At least he had stopped me as intended, which was quite a feat.

What it didn't stop was my anger from returning as I remembered our current position. "What are you doing here?" I demanded before Dimitri could put in a word, trying not to hiss the question. And by "here" I meant the Northeast, not the police department. "Last I checked, you were in New Orleans!"

I realized I slipped too late. He got a funny look on his face at the mention of me checking in on his location, but of course didn't pursue it. Like Sydney, he knew when to switch to neutral, business mode. This called for it. He shut down all his emotions- something that drove me crazy (and _not _in a good way)- simply saying, "I was reassigned here. They wanted more FBI presence in the area for the growing Strigoi problem and in the meantime, want me to work with the police department to help in cases that could be connected."

I scowled. I forgot how much his logic made sense. My roundabout Rose logic wouldn't work here. The Strigoi were a gang running rampant around the small state, like a mini, Boston-accented Mafia. The way they were spreading was a constant concern and called for big guns. In that sense, Dimitri was probably the most qualified person they could recruit. Still out of everyone in the damn country, why did it have to be _him_ working with _my _unit_? _That was a sick twist of fate if I'd ever heard of one.

"I didn't know you were here," Dimitri added after that brief lapse of silence, seeming to think it was a point worth mentioning. It at least explained his mirror shock back in the hallway. He probably thought he was seeing a ghost.

"This case isn't connected to the Strigoi," I finally replied, out of witty comebacks. If he was going to play tactical, then so was I. "Victor Dashkov doesn't get involved in that sort of thing. He's just a monster-under-the-bed serial killer." _One I got to meet up close and personal. _

He shrugged. "Like I said, I'm still assigned to help. And who knows for sure? Word gets around and people meet. He could very well be involved with them."

I didn't bother pointing out the fault in Dimitri's logic. One, Victor was borderline on 40, not to mention insanity. That wasn't exactly gangbanger material. Two... well, I knew him. It made me sick to my stomach to admit, but if there was anyone that could guess his next moves, it was me. Being in league with Strigoi wasn't on Victor's agenda. He wanted power, and he certainly wasn't about to share it with a group of delinquents.

Again, I didn't bother saying it to trump Dimitri's theory. He'd figure it out eventually.

"Have you read the case files?" I inquired, hands on hips.

He shook his head. "Not yet. Things have been... hectic."

He was singing to the choir. I didn't know whether to be relieved or distressed he wasn't in the loop. Obviously, he wasn't aware of my full connection with Victor yet. But like his failed idea about Dashkov joining the ranks of gang-hood, he would come to realize that, too. It was all a matter of time. Too bad my timing always seemed to suck lately. "Yeah, well, it hasn't exactly been a walk in the park for me either. Just stay on the sidelines for this match and I'll deal with the hard stuff, comrade."

He smiled faintly at the use of the old nickname. It had come without a second thought to me and the replying smile still made my breath catch in my throat. I guess time couldn't change some things. "Yes, general," he said.

Heat warmed up between us and I suddenly became aware of our proximity. He was standing; close. Really close. Way more than I'd originally thought. He came to the same realization, and in sync with my thoughts, stepped back. He put on his blank mask again. I repressed an internal sigh, running a hand through my hair. Yeah. Some things never would change. "Well now that that's clear, I'm heading off. We'll deal with whatever this mess is later."

"I'm coming with you."

I looked at him, surprised. "Whoa, whoa, you ranked me general just now. Last I checked, officers can't go against a direct order."

"And last I checked, we weren't exactly ones to play by the rules," he replied. I think I was the only one to catch the double-meaning behind his words, but that was definitely not a topic I was willing to go into at the moment.

Reluctantly, I gave in. Mia wanted me to play nice, so I grudgingly had to comply. I was going to kick myself for this later. "Fine. But I'm driving."

Hopping down the building's steps with Dimitri in tow, I saw Mason already leaning against my car, waiting while his ancient dinosaur rumbled behind my Chevrolet. Normally he drove with me, but guessed ahead that we'd have extra company this time, flashing his typical grin. Cocky bastard.

I popped open the door, slipping in. I was off to visit my personal Boogie Man with my recently-reunited ex teacher and one-night-stand.

What could go wrong?

**Good lord, I can't believe I haven't updated in a month. Time certainly flies. I'll get the next chapter up waaay sooner; thanks for sticking with me this long. You guys are awesome. Hopefully it'll be worth it for when Rose goes face-to-face with Victor again~ Reviews always make me smile ;D**


	5. Heart in Chains

I did a lot more than kick myself. The whole time I mentally assailed myself, those stupid little voices in my head griping and making sarcastic remarks about my IQ. I have to say, it did wonders for my mood.

All of this summed up to one important mental note: steer away from riding in a car alone with Dimitri at all costs. I thought it had been hard to resist his cologne and presence back in the offices. Cramped in a tiny car with no air space or separation to speak of? It was unbearable. I felt like Eve with the forbidden fruit dangling right in front of me. Luckily, I scraped enough control to power through and not dive into my primal instincts. The voices that weren't chastising me for getting stuck in this situation were cheering me on to rip his shirt off.

I already knew how that story ended.

The prison was only 15 minutes away, and as I got out of the car, I sucked in grateful, clean air that didn't make me heady. Small blessings. I looked up at the imposing, gray building, sharp against the dreary autumn sky. It was a prison, all right. It looked like the type of building that needed gargoyles sprinkled along the barbed wire for emphasis.

Steeling myself with more resolve than I felt, I pretended not to be affected by Dimitri or the looming encounter with Victor. I'd play this game one hand at a time. Checking sexually-ramped car ride off the list, I made my way in with my two partners, going through the usual motions of security and confirming we weren't here to start a prison break.

We were directed into a plain, cafeteria-like room that screamed jumpsuit friendly. The tables and adjoined benches gleamed silver, the tiny ocean sprawled out in front of me almost dizzying. Mason made half-hearted attempts to improve my spirits, and I smiled in response, though it helped little. Dimitri said nothing. The air clung with ominous, as if my apprehension had soaked into the room. It wasn't exactly a chit-chat atmosphere. Even my usual Rose quips died short.

Then, I heard the scuffling of feet and chains, the click of the door fraying all of our nerves and kicking defensive instinct into play. Three men, one dragged down by the linked restraints, the other two prison guards, entered.

My heart rammed against my ribcage as if it was the prisoner.

That same wave of fear, hate, and disgust that washed over me whenever it came to Victor Dashkov slammed into me like a cement truck when I saw him again. I could feel my muscles tighten, my body rigid and screaming to pounce. It was a typical reaction to a serial killer, even one chained and guarded. With him? I was two seconds away from lunging. He was lucky those guards were around- to keep _him_ safe from _me_. And yet, at the same time, fear rooted me to the concrete. I hated this man with every fiber in my being, but terror still made me freeze, a habit as annoying as it was hard to shake.

I had slight satisfaction that jail had done a number on him though. Oh, he was still lethal by any standards of course, but cell time had aged him. He'd always been tall and thin, but now his strength had waned, his cheeks gaunt as he withered away in prison. His pale, jade eyes- ones that reminded me of Lissa's, creepily enough- were hazy and unfocused. Jail might have taken a chunk out of his life span, but it seemed to ramp up the crazy. Genius and crazy kind of went hand-in-hand though, which was far from comforting.

When our gazes locked, he smiled knowingly, the gesture making my spine quiver, a shiver running up its length. His eyes had refocused in a flash, back to scheming-villain mode. It didn't damper his refinement in the least. His bravado could have brought royal families to shame. "Rosemarie, how lovely to see you," he said, his voice laced with grand fever as he walked down the gray aisle. "And to what do I owe the pleasure? I haven't seen you since the trial. A shame, really, that we had to meet again under such circumstances."

If his demeanor was warm, mine was the polar opposite, the ill-humored uplift of my lips icy as I shook my head and moved around the opposite way. "Get him in the chair," I ordered, playing business. The guards pushed him down by his shoulders onto the bench of the table. I sat on the edge of the table facing him and pulled up a knee, waiting him out.

Victor tilted his head ever so slightly, studying me. "You haven't changed, Rose. I'm glad. How are you? Still barely in control, clearly, but too valuable to dispose of. It would be a waste, harsh temper aside; if you were kicked out, I wouldn't get to see you." He paused, still looking at me like a lab experiment. "You're the only one that has that scent, you know, of lavender and fear. It's intoxicating, really." Christ, what was he, a bloodhound?

Off to the side, Dimitri and Mason were focused on us, but I didn't bother dealing with them. I held his gaze unflinchingly, not about to drive home the "fear" comment. "I see you still like making small chat. I'm surprised you didn't bring up the weather. Then again that really doesn't apply to you in here, does it?" His smile twitched. Good. At least I was getting to him. "I'm not here to talk about my control issues or my perfume. See one, Do one, Teach one: that's what they taught you in medical school. Who did you teach, Dashkov?"

We might as well have been discussing politics over tea. "It's charming that you came here, and looking for information at that." He leaned back. "I dropped out of school, Rosemarie."

I scoffed. "No, you were kicked out." I rested my hands in front of me, my tone probably able to turn rain to ice. "For fondling a corpse."

_That_ got to him. Victor watched me, brooding, his smile completely faded now. I could almost see the web of mastermind plans churning in his head, hazy green eyes weighing me heavily. He licked his lips and glanced down at his forearms on the table. A small chuckle escaped, but its usual amusement was clouded by baleful annoyance. "That's very good, Rose." He looked up. "You've finally learned how to irritate me."

I didn't respond. After a moment, his eyes traveled down, settling on my hands. His expression shifted. He was still calculating, but was clearly pulled by something else. Something about his interest suddenly made me feel vulnerable, exposed, as if he was looking right through me. I tightened my hold on my hands. They'd started aching the minute I laid eyes on him, and now deju vu was sucking me back into the past, reliving that pain.

Of course, he noticed instantly. "Do your hands hurt, Rose?" he inquired, his prying voice also leaving me feeling battered and raw.

I tried, and failed, not to glower. "No," I said tightly. "It's like it never happened."

Either he chose to ignore me or he was still caught up in his physco obsession as remembrance ceased him, too. Probably both. "Hands are so useful," he mused slowly to himself. "Yours especially. I haven't seen them in such a long a time- I want to again." He smiled back up at me, but this one held intent avidity, taunting edge remaining. "Do they still work?"

Mason's jaw clenched as he moved around in the background, attention flickering from him to me. We exchanged a look. By the slow shake of his head and hard edge in his eyes, it was clear he didn't want me playing along with Victor's whims. Dimitri, choosing not to hover like my partner, stood the side, taking all of it in. Of course he wouldn't fully understand the dangerous path this was heading. Mason and I did though.

And despite Mason's clear disapproval, I took the plunge.

Shoving my repulsion aside, I stood up and lifted my hands into the air. Walking forward, I twisted them from my palms to the back so he could see both sides. Yeah. Dimitri had to be lost by now. Victor, however, stared at them in wonder, like he was seeing sunlight for the first time in days. I sat down on the opposite bench, still holding them up. X-shaped scars marred the smoothness of the skin in the middle on both fronts, the marks light against my natural tan. "Good as new, no thanks to you," I answered.

He dragged his gaze back to my face as I tucked my hands under my arms, orbs sparkling with keen interest now. "Don't tell me you still bear a grudge against me for that, Rose. You must of realized like I did that proper restraint was necessary, especially for you."

I ground my teeth, but forced myself to stay in control. "Right. Because pinning a guest to the floor with scalpels is the first thing that comes to my mind, too."

He chuckled, his smile widening. "Witty. Always witty, Rose. It made for great entertainment. Still does."

I changed topics, not letting him go so easily. "So. Your turn. You trained someone, didn't you? I want a name."

It was obvious though he had no intentions of letting _me _go easily. His gaze lingered on my throat, murmuring, "I love your neck. It's so beautiful... slender." I could almost feel his scalpel pressing against my throat again as he spoke. My gaze hardened as his turned wistful. "Just like I remember... if only I could have painted it red."

Apparently, that was Mason's breaking point.

His hand roughly grabbed his shoulder from the side, nails biting into the base of his throat while his blue eyes turned molten under Victor's gaze. "Answer the question," he berated lowly, the two locked in a stare down. I didn't look to see Dimitri's reaction to his words. I didn't have to. Even if he was shocked by the outgoings of all of this, he wouldn't let himself show it.

After several moments, Mason was the one to pull back. He was Victor's focus as the latter's smile grew. "Well, now, tell me, Rose," he admonished, going back to me, "what would _you_ like to do to me?"

Oh, that was a loaded question. I leaned forward over my arms, crossing my ankles. "You want to know what I want to do?" My voice was subdued as I inhaled and said, "I'd like to get my gun. Put it to your temple. And pull the trigger."

Victor straightened, chuckling, "No, no, no, no, no," he waved his hands, chain links clinking against the table, answering calmly like he was addressing a child. "It is _so_ much better if you take your time. You have to savor it. To mindlessly kill is a waste. You see, all my life I've been meticulous about finishing what I started. And that bothers me, because I haven't finished what I started with you."

"Trust me, you won't get that chance, you son of a bitch," I growled.

"Mmm," he regarded, staring at my neck. "Do you dream about me, Rose?" I rolled my tongue under my teeth, biting back a sharp retort as he continued, "Because I dream about you."

"I don't even think about you, but I'll visit every damn day if you tell me who your friend is. Who killed Dr. Colbe, and where's his wife?"

Again, he took his time, weighing me and the situation at hand. He'd accomplished luring me in, but he wasn't the CEO of criminal masterminds for nothing. His patience didn't have an expiration date, he'd waited two years for this, after all, and I knew he preferred taking his time in his twisted games. Why spoil it so soon? Victor glimpsed up at the clock on the far wall, resigned with our meeting. "It seems my time here's up." He stood, the guards on him in a flash. Grabbing him by the arms, they began to lead him away, Victor following nonchalantly as if going back to his comfy bland cell was a sound choice.

My fingers clenched. I couldn't let him leave that easily after everything he put me through. I'd gotten no answers. My earlier line to Mia rang through my thoughts: _I won't let him play this same game with me again. _I was the one in control, not him. _Time to prove it, Rose. _I raised my head and, staring forward, called one of the only things I knew would make him stop. "I do dream about you."

Dimitri and Mason froze. The footsteps stopped. I could practically see that lithe smile on his lips. I'd jumped into his grasps again, risking heavily on him telling me something- anything- and he knew it. "Well now, that wasn't so hard to admit, was it?" He seemed determined to toy with me as much as possible, testing my reactions like how someone tested a pool's water. He angled back towards me. "Tell me, am I ever your lover?"

Mason snapped as soon as the words were out, his heated voice filling the room as he stormed forward. "That's enough you son of a bitch!"

I caught his arm as soon as he tried to pass me, forcing him back. "Stop," I ordered sharply, my voice quiet but final. Victor wasn't worth it. Mason's features were hell-bent but he obediently stepped back, furious eyes on the older man. A glance at Dimitri showed an equally storm-like fire kindling in his eyes. Good God. Victor had no idea how lucky he was our guns were still in holding. His light laugh filled the air though, obviously entertained by his own game.

The guards began to escort him out again when he paused again and said, "I suppose I should play fair, Rose." I glimpsed over my shoulder distrustfully. "My friend is out there. Enjoy him while you can." His amusement came through clear as day. "….Because he'll enjoy you."

He finally let the guards drag him away. And like that, my manifested nightmare was gone.

Letting go of Mason's arm, I stood up and looked ahead again. Fantastic. I ran a hand through my hair, aggravated. "Nothing. We got nothing out of him except his damned copycat is running around. That and I need new perfume. I just got a new bottle, too."

The somber mood killed off any laugh that might have earned me. It didn't even earn me a smile, Mason already picking up what I was attempting. "Rose," he said quietly, knowing my habit of covering unease with jokes, his tone tipping toward warning.

I looked at him, my blasé mask cracking slightly, anguish flashing in my eyes. Just then, an underlying understanding passed between us. If anyone were to understand me at the moment, it was Mason. It was natural to build a strong bond with your partner in our line of work. You had to trust that person with your life after all. Even if he hadn't seen me in the aftermath of that day, he knew me when I was at my weakest; I didn't have to pretend to be strong now.

Swallowing, I glanced away again. "I'm fine," I answered, recognizing his unspoken question.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated, catching me off guard. Picking it up, I said, "Hathaway."

"Rose, you're going to want to see this," Lissa said solemnly. My stomach sank. I wasn't going to like what she was about to say. "A hiker just found Gabe's body on the outskirts of a the woods. They're guessing about fifteen hours since the time of death, but I'll determine more when I get there." Well, lovely. Gabe was dead. This day was getting better and better by the minute. She followed up with approximate directions that I don't think a military GPS could properly find.

"Alright, I'll be right there." I hung up and, addressing the two males, said, "They just found Gabe's body, we're heading out. Mase, you sign us out, I'll pull up the car."

He nodded. With professional efficiency, I strode away, winding my way back toward the exit. Unsurprisingly, another set of footsteps trailed after me. After ignoring him for a steady minute, he pulled my arm (still sending that stupid electric current through me) and turned me around, pausing in a blank corridor. I knew this was coming. "If you've got something to say, say it, comrade," I demanded. Urgency and impatience radiated off me. I didn't want to have this talk, not now. Not with him.

Dimitri regarded me before stating, "You were attacked by Dashkov."

"Wow, nice work detective, you were able to piece that much together? I'm impressed."

He cut me a sharp look. "Rose, this is serious. Tell me what happened, everything."

I could feel the knot of anger diminishing in my chest at his earnest concern, but unease still tugged at me at the topic of this conversation. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Rose," he warned, his voice lowering and more gentle. "Please."

I glanced away. Damn it. Why did he have to do that to me? He might as well have puppies staring at me with big eyes, begging me to tell. "Why don't you just read the report? I'm sure you can figure it out from what's in there."

"I want to hear it from you."

Typical Dimitri response. A few moments of hesitation passed before I bit my lip. No matter how upset I was at him, I knew he deserved to know- I just wasn't sure if I was telling him as my boss or former companion. I sighed. How had my love life change from nonexistent into a daytime soap opera? "It was one of my first cases in my new unit," I began diplomatically. "I'd worked with Mia before on smaller work, but nothing compared to this. She was pulled away to check on another lead, so I searched one of the suspected homes on my own. You know me, always ready to laugh in the face of danger. I thought, well, I could handle anything fate threw at me.

"I found a hidden door and a staircase that lead into the basement. Leigh, the missing wife we were searching for, was there, bound but still breathing. I almost collapsed with relief. I hurried to reach her, but was careless. Victor snuck up behind me as soon as I'd taken two steps and knocked me out. I was barely conscious when he put the scalpels through my hands, pinning me to the floor." I took a breath, eyes still tilted away from him.

"My body didn't register then that he was slicing my throat. I didn't think 'he's going to kill me like the other girls'. But he almost succeeded in doing just that. Next thing I knew though, I heard a gunshot. It didn't hit Victor, but it did get him away from me. Mia's face was the last thing I saw before everything turned black again. Two days later I woke up with Victor in jail, me in the hospital, and permanent scars on my hands. It was one of the only things that convinced me that that nightmare was real. That's silly though, huh? That I would need evidence to make sure it wasn't a dream."

I finally let my gaze shift back to Dimitri as soon as I'd wrapped my monologue up. I'd accepted all of this a long time ago, and knew it showed. "I meant what I said in there. I'm okay. Creeped out as hell, yeah, but for the circumstances? I'm fine."

We lapsed into silence, Dimitri absorbing everything I'd just said. The look on his face was indecipherable, a puzzle I'd never figure out, kind of like the Rubik's cube Lissa got me for my 7th birthday. I'd thrown it against the wall and broken it in frustration, declaring that was as good as it was going to get. Somehow I didn't think that was an option here. Finally, he asked, "Why did you take this case?"

It caught me off guard for a moment. With our normal synchrony it felt weird for him to ask my motive. "Because... I can't just stand by and do nothing. I mean, Lissa and Mia and all of them didn't want me signing up, but it would drive me crazier not jumping in to save the day."

He appeared to be leaning on Lissa and Mia's side. "Even though you know you're the one he's after?"

"Like I said, I'm always ready to laugh in the face of danger. And I think this is as dangerous as it gets."

Dimitri observed me for a second with considerate dark eyes more before glancing back down the hallway, as if suddenly really interested in firing up the car. Quietly, as if I wasn't supposed to hear, he said, "I hope this is as dangerous as it gets."

**I love cliffhangers haha. Is it weird that I like getting the villain in on the story? At least you all finally get your answer as to what Victor did to Rose. You would not believe how difficult it is to mix proper-royal Victor with serial-killer-after-Rose Victor. Hopefully it turned out okay. The fun isn't over yet; he still has an ace up his sleeve in this card game. Reviews always make me dance idiotically3**


	6. Growing Storm

I always hated seeing Dashkov's female victims. It reminded me that I'd almost been one of them. Imagining myself in the forest, my existence snuffed out like a flame while no one knew... it wasn't exactly a happy thought to linger on. Most days I didn't. But in situations like this, it was impossible not to think about.

Walking up to the half-circle of police, I recognized Stan and Mia among the few officers lingering on the outskirts. I put on a good air, not about to let Mia know how shaken up Victor had left me. I sure as hell wasn't going to give Stan that satisfaction. "You all got here fast," I remarked, stopping in a bed of pine, the fallen leaves crunching under my boots like snow. I stuffed my hands in my pockets. "So how exactly did they find the body all the way out here again?" We were in the middle of no where, surrounded by trees for miles on end. My phone had lost service decades ago. We could have been in Narnia for all I knew.

"A dog got loose on a camping trip, sniffed her out," Stan said, deadpan, while Mia rubbed said Labrador behind the ears.

"If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have found her till summer," Mia added.

Lissa, on a roll, was already examining the body. I did the same as I walked up, eyes sweeping over her. I felt my chest constrict at the sight. Gabe was leaned up against a tree truck, her ivory skin pale with death's touch. Glass eyes stared up at nothing while her naked body was covered with leaves and vines. Definitely not how I wanted someone to find my body. "The time of death is about 17 hours," Lissa told me, not needing to glance up to pin my identity. Victor might be onto something with the power of smell. I'd have to make sure to dump my lotions when I got home. "I should be able to get prints or fiber off of her body."

"That's at least something." I sighed, and more quietly, whispered, "God, I can't believe this."

She nodded, seeming to share my view, and glanced up. An intrigued look crossed over her pretty face and for a second I thought she'd seen through my playact of calm-and-collected. But it wasn't me she was focused on. I registered a familiar aroma and recognized Dimitri behind me, probably examining the body as well. Yeah. I definitely knew all about the wonders of that fourth sense. I also realized that they hadn't been introduced, which would explain the look Lissa was giving my 6'7" accomplice.

"Oh, right." Feeling like the awkward go-between friend at a party, I jabbed a thumb at Dimitri. "Liss, this is our mysterious FBI arrival, Dimitri Belikov. Dimitri, Lissa- she's the head medical examiner."

Understanding light up Lissa's eyes before recognition did. Her doe-eyes widened and she looked at me, trying to confirm my teacher's ID. I nodded slightly, not in the mood to walk down memory road about my days in the academy. Thankfully, she seemed to pick up on that and didn't press, nodding politely at Dimitri while he did the same. Her current hands-on experience with the corpse kind of put on hold the protical to shake hands. She went back to Gabe, but I sensed there was going to be a lengthy discussion of Dimitri in the future. That was going to be a party and a half.

"It's odd, leaving her out in the open like this," she mused, breaking any remaining tension and silence, much to my relief- I wasn't up for cracking a joke. I could tell she was gambling on her past expertise with Dashkov like the rest of my team. However, I also saw a spark of scientific inquiry cease Lissa as she drew a pen over the air around the body. "Look at how she's laid out."

I forced myself to glance back at the corpse, this time intrigue shadowing my dread. I bent down, picking up on what she had. "It's like she's taking a nap or reading a book," I said and looking up at my best friend, surprised. "But why? Why not bury her?"

"Didn't have time," Stan guessed, though it sounded like a flat-out fact. He turned his back as I glanced back at poor Gabe. Guilt gnawed at me. I might be used to bodies and gore, but this was personal. She wasn't meant to die.

_We'll find him, don't worry,_ I promised her silently. It spooked me to think she heard my sentiment, but I had to promise her (if she was still hanging around) at least that much. I wouldn't let her death be in vain. If I couldn't save her, I'd at least bring her killer to justice. _Enjoy him while you can. Because he'll enjoy you. _As I studied her body and thought of Dashkov's sick sense of humor, I murmured out loud, "It has to mean something."

* * *

><p>Talc tickled my nose as I took my latex gloves off, the puff of powder making me want to sneeze and gag at the same time. Luckily, I did neither, tossing them into the bin before I let my body get the chance to react. No matter how much time I spent in here, I'd never get used to that rubbery sick smell. It pricked memories any sane person would lose their lunch at. Ironically though I was bringing lunch to the event. It explained enough why I never went through with being a wedding planner like my cousin Ambrose wanted.<p>

Picking up the item I'd left to grab, I walked back over to the polished, gleaming desk, extending an arm. "Here." I handed Lissa an open can of tuna, crackers and a spoon completing the small gift package. She smiled despite her usual delicacy. She'd been working non-stop and would have been grateful for a dog biscuit if it meant getting her blood sugar back on track.

"Thanks," she said, taking the snack and munching on it while I did the same with mine. I wasn't a huge fan of fish, but my stomach was growling too loudly for my tastebuds to complain. We were in her lab, each clad in scrubs, though Lissa was the only one sporting a faceshield. Gabe's body was on the table behind us under a bright, gold-white light. I pointedly averted my gaze, eyes scanning Lissa's computer screen instead.

"Were you able to pull anything?" I asked between bites, only partially understanding the medical mumbo-jumbo her list recited. "Prints? Fibers? Anything to identify our guy?"

Lissa, always the braniac, deciphered the 14-letter-long words effortlessly. "No prints, but I did lift a carpet fiber from underneath her nail."

I felt excitement swell up in me. "And?"

The look on her face immediately squashed my elation before her words delivered the finishing punch. "Blue carpet fiber from a car's trunk, it appears, but it's impossible to determine the model or origin."

Blue was the most common color car rug. "You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, about two seconds away from beating my head against a wall. "So we've got nothing?" Lissa didn't respond, but her grimace confirmed as much. "Well that's perfect. For every step forward we take two steps back. According to Mia, Dashkov also didn't meet his apprentice in jail or in medical school. All 80 of his classmates are clean."

She pondered for a moment. "What about that mobile blood drive he used to work at?" she suggested hopefully.

"All clean." I sighed, biting down on a cracker with unrequited force. "We're running around in circles just like he wants." It was pissing me off to no end, too, but that went without saying.

"Are you guys eating cat food?" a questionable voice inquired from behind.

I looked over in surprise. Sure enough, brown-gold eyes met mine, blonde hair framing her face- which was currently twisted in a look of disgust that made me want to laugh out loud. It trumped my momentary startlement and I held up the tuna, offering, the cracker hanging lopsided in my smiling mouth. "Want to try and find out?"

Sydney shook her head, a translucent lily tattoo across her cheek catching the light and glimmering gold. It was actually a pretty cool concept, as far as tattooing went. "You're insane if you think I'm touching that."

"Mm, must be a detective thing." I chomped and swallowed the cracker. "What are you doing here, Syd? I thought this wasn't your scene."

She certainly dressed the part though. She had her hair partially down for once, a messy bun flopping to the side. Her slacks and button-down were a mirror of mind underneath, save for her visitor's badge. It was still a thought that made me want to dive into a fashion magazine ASAP. She simply shrugged, her stoic character about as interesting as the cardboard my tuna had come in. "Not like I have much else to do while I'm on leave." She wrinkled her nose, still hung up on her primary observation. "Seriously, do you guys want me to pick you up McDonald's or something? Fancy Feast hardly sounds appetizing."

"That's just because you haven't tried it yet."

She looked ready to make some dry comment but was distracted by whatever was on Lissa's computer monitor. I could practically see her morph from play-with-Rose mode to her technology-geek setting. Her eyes absorbed the information impossibly fast then glimpsed at Gabe. "No luck with tracing?"

"Yeah. You came to an empty party, Syd."

She didn't look completely put-out though, a dawning glint in her eyes. "Did you do a wet drop?"

Lissa and I regarded Sydney in surprise before we exchanged a dumfounded look between ourselves. W_hy didn't we think of that? _I could probably use my lack of sleep as a response, but truthfully the idea hadn't come close to crossing my mind. Lissa, child prodigy extraordinaire, seemed to back me up there as she looked back at my CIA friend, dazed. "It's not standard procedure, but I can," she said, rising from her desk chair.

A wet drop, testing for sexual intercourse, definitely was _not_ standard procedure. Considering our range of expertise, it was a rare tool of the trade- but, at this point, I was ready to try anything. Lissa took a sampling from Gabe then prepped it for the microscope. Hooking it up to her computer, she slid the slide in and focused, the image appearing on the monitor as well. Sure enough, sperm squirmed across the screen, and as usual, my disbelief quickly formed to skepticism, courtesy of 4 years of police training. I turned to Sydney with crossed arms. "How did you know?" I demanded.

She remained unfazed as she looked at the screen. "I didn't."

"Yes, you did," I pushed.

Lissa looked up from the lens. "They're fresh, deposited post-mortem." I made a sound of disgust, an urge to go smash Victor's skull in rising up like bile. It explained Gabe's strange positioning back in the woods. The sick bastard was going back for seconds. Lissa angled towards us, glimpsing at Sydney curiously. "It's not typical to check for necrophilia."

"Dashkov standardly rapes his victims, right?" Sydney pointed out. "It makes sense that his apprentice would do the same, even after killing her."

I flinched at the reference. He hadn't gotten close to that far with me but it was still a sore subject. Then the impact of what Sydney was saying finally registered. I glanced between the screen and Gabe, realization spurring me forward. "Wait a sec, if we've got this guy's ready-to-go offspring, that's as good as a fingerprint!"

I could see the same exuberance affecting Lissa as realization slammed into her, too. Her jade eyes twinkled knowingly under the medical lighting. "I'll run it immediately," she said, rushing the sample to her people in the adjacent room. Her medical team was fast and would probably have the results in a couple hours. I could have passed out in relief if my burst of excitement hadn't kept me wide-awake. We'd done it. Victor could toy with me all he liked, but this time I didn't need a confession to get his apprentice. We practically had his ID tucked neatly in a leather wallet.

Screw being ten steps behind him. I was leading the race.

Or, well, that's what I thought.

Dimitri bursting through the door kind of ruined my celebratory cheerleading.

Sydney and I looked over at him, startled. "Christ, what, are you being chased by Strigoi?" I asked, not completely sure where his sudden agitation was coming from and not completely liking it.

He didn't answer. His dark eyes flitted around the room, taking every detail in in a second. I felt my stomach flip-flop as I mentally swore. I knew that look. He was on offense, braced to attack. Maybe he really was being hunted down by Strigoi henchmen. His gaze leveled on me as he briskly walked forward. I could see him trying to keep his blank face on and not show whatever unease or brooding was stirring behind his mask in vain. "Are you alright?" he asked out of no where.

This whole thing was catching me off guard. It was pretty hard for him to blindside me, but he was doing a hell of a good job at it today. "Yeah, why?"

Again, he didn't acknowledge my question- except this time he didn't have to.

Through all of this, he'd been able to keep up his professional demeanour, not about to step over the line I'd draw after our fall-out back at the academy. Both of us had put on a good show of being nothing more than simple partners. But I felt a part of that condescending agreement crack and splinter away like a broken mirror as I stared back. He was looking at me with an emotion I never saw Dimitri play. He looked almost... fearful.

There were certain times when I couldn't decode him to save my life. However, there were also times that I could see right through him and realizations tumbled into me, our beings clicking into perfect harmony. This was one of those times.

I felt my heart fall through the floor as his worry spilled into me. "What?" I asked uneasily, straightening and facing him. "What's wrong?"

"Rose, you should sit down," he said. It didn't sound like a friendly suggestion; it sounded like a military order. At least he'd gratified it enough to make the edge soft. Small blessings.

I shook my head slowly. "No, just tell me." I wasn't about to back down from whatever news he was about to deliver, even if it meant ignoring my growing apprehension.

In very un-Dimitri-like fashion, he hesitated, stopping a few feet from me. His brown orbs examined me, pouring over every detail, as if assessing how best to approach this. He looked like a general deciding how to lead his troops into battle. "Earlier this morning..."

Lissa arrived just in time to stand beside Sydney, both of them glancing between Dimitri and I, and the growing storm. I could see from my peripheral vision that our apprehension was infecting them, too. Misery loves company. I was focused solely on Dimitri though, my eyes searching his face desperately for some kind of clue. He looked like he was about to tell me the world was collapsing in on itself a year earlier than the Mayans predicted.

In the end, I guess I wasn't that far off. "Earlier this morning, Victor Dashkov escaped custody."

**Well. That can't be good. But at least I included some bonding time for Syd and Liss over this ****little bump in the road. Haha I seriously have to get these things out sooner. Just bomb my comments or inbox and remind me once in a while. Reviews would be ah-mazing~ **


	7. Ebony Night

I hit the ground running. My heels clattered against the linoleum as I sprinted through the building, whipping past rows of paper-framed windows while my head spun out of control.

_Impossible. It has to be, right?_

Victor couldn't have escaped. For God's sake, he was in _prison, _under lock and keyand the eyes of hundreds. He couldn't have broken out. We weren't in Alaska or something where he could vanish into evergreen forests. If this was Dimitri's sick idea of a joke, I was going to punch him in the carotid artery. Or knock his head against the wall. Hell, probably both. But, the tight, gut-wrenching knot in my stomach was telling me this was no joke, my instincts three steps ahead of my chaotic thoughts.

On one end, my head seemed to be shutting down and closing shop for the night, my sluggish, half-finished thoughts dragging their feet. At the same time, everything was in overdrive. My mind was sprinting a marathon.

Turns out, so was I.

I burst into my section, everyone else already mobile, the commander running the show. She stopped only when she saw me.

"Rose," Alberta exclaimed. She opened her mouth to say more, probably to inform me of the situation, but I cut her off before she got the chance.

"How?" I demanded over the slowly quieting din, half-panting. My hold around the doorknob tightened, to the point it threatened to snap. "How did that bastard escape?"

* * *

><p>I watched the tape again, pacing, my knuckle pressed to my mouth as my eyes scanned the screen. Nothing had changed from the last time I watched, but I continued to play the surveillance back, prying it apart piece by piece like that would make new evidence magically surface. A girl could dream, right?<p>

Any lingering fantasy that this was a joke had broken away as reality set in. The swarm of press buzzed outside like blue flies, my team and the jail officials high-strung as Alberta barked out orders for PD to catch Victor at all costs. Yes, it was definitely true. He'd broken out to join his buddy on the lamb. I'd known Dashkov was a warped, psychotic genius but breaking out of max security? What did I have to, chain him to a chair and lock him in a room 20 miles below sea level? A bitter voice in my head mocked, _He'd probably escape from there, too. _

I exhaled sharply, my head throbbing. "I can't believe this," I muttered. My piercing gaze vacationed from the static-humming screen to flit to Dimitri and the prison ward. "Tell me again,_ why_ wasn't he restrained?"

The ward's eyes narrowed. "Two doctors assured me that he was suffering from appendicitis," he said, the dark-skinned male looking fierce and insistent, not at all liking having his authority questioned.

"200 milligrams of decadron would give him an abnormal white cell count," I growled, picking up my pace, frustration driving me on. "It mimics all the symptoms."

I looked back at the security video once more, Mason rewinding to the beginning. Nothing changed. Victor, in surgical dress, shot up from the gurney he was on, taking out the three doctors without batting an eye. Clever enough to fake an ailment and knock out an unprotected medical team- Dashkov certainly lived up to his name.

"Christ," I muttered, running a hand through my hair as I tried to get a bearing on what to do now. I had to face it: Victor was out and coming for me, his partner trotting by his side like an obedient hound. Lovely. The duo was probably already making plans to break into my apartment in the middle of the night to scare me half to death- then finish the "death" part off. _Boy, can't wait for that. _I sighed.Only I could crack a joke at a time like this.

Suddenly, the ward exclaimed, "What is he doing?", the voice breaking me out of my mulling like ice water. I glanced up at the screen. I'd been rewinding the tape so much I hadn't noticed the grand finale. Victor stood below the camera, pressing something into his hand. He lifted the marred palm to the lens, blood drawing down in a thin line. In his other hand was a scalpel, an eerie smile curling his lips and lighting his pale eyes.

My jaw tightened as I averted my gaze to the wall, still traipsing. Knuckles white as my nails bit into my own, scarred palm, I muttered, "It's a message for me."

* * *

><p>Darkness swallowed the city like a glutton, the light snuffed out under night's reign. In compensation, light bulbs flickered to life and glowed in huddled windows, the materialized fireflies springing up over the city. The sight reflected through my apartment's glass as I walked past, exhausted from bantering with the two idiots. "For the last time, I <em>don't<em> need protection."

Like me though, they were holding their ground. Metaphorically speaking. "We're not going to let him play with you like this again," Mason said, leaning against my couch with Mark hovering close by. Mia had the squad car fired up below. They might as well have the whole department light a bon fire and stay the night.

I shot Mason a sharp look. "He's not ," I said icily, walking between their small tunnel. I swung the door open, resigned. "Come on, go and get some sleep, Mark."

"Hey, I'm fine," the elder law enforcer said, looking ready to stand post outside for days on end.

I felt frustration build up in me. "You know if I was a guy, you wouldn't be worried like this!"

"You're not a guy," Mason said stonily.

I could have thrown my hands up in defeat. "No, I am a homicide detective," I stated, pressing a hand at the base of my throat. "And he is _not_ going to kill me."

Frustration turned out to be just as contagious as my apprehension from earlier. Mason rarely lost his cool, but he snapped for the second time in 24 hours under the mounting pressure. "Really?" he demanded, voice rising to an almost-shout. "Because he almost did last time, just look at your hands!"

I felt my eyes harden in an instant, the obsidian orbs turning to slate. Mark could practically see the sparks fly between us- and not in the romantic way Mason always envisioned. He laid a hand on Mason's shoulder, silently telling him to back off; Mason, however, was still burning with an agitation that could have rivaled my own. I could understand his worry behind that anger, but I wasn't about to keep any of them from getting shut-eye. God knows we needed all the rest we could get. I turned to Mark, the only sane one in the room, pleading, "Please, take him out."

Mark weighed me with eyes beyond his years. Finally, he nodded, quietly telling me, "We'll be outside." He nudged Mason's shoulder gently, the only push he needed.

Mason sighed slightly, all of his anger unraveling and dispersing with that exhale of breath. He held up his hands, resigned. "Fine, fine, be like that." Mark headed out first, Mason turning around and walking backwards out. "But if you have a boyfriend coming over, we'll know, how's that?"

I scoffed. "Oh, I'm terrified, wouldn't want that secret getting out."

I shut the door after them, locking and chaining it (twice) before pressing my head against the oak. I paused. There was no sound in my apartment but the quiet, distant hum of traffic, my breathing slowing to match the same pace. I stayed like that for several minutes, trying to put my haywire thoughts in order before I seriously drove myself crazy. Victor's name and face kept running through my head like an ESPN news banner, never mind all the envisioned scenarios my mind conjured up. God, my mind really sucked sometimes.

No matter how much I tried to shove them away, I was comforted to know I wasn't fending for myself alone tonight. I closed my eyes and swallowed, curling my hands in, making them relax. I hadn't realized they were quivering until then. _Calm down,_ I chastised myself. _He's not here. Calm down and let the others take care of it for now._

Yeah. If I only I followed my advice as much as I gave it.

I straightened and, trying to act like a normal human being, began keeping my hands busy, picking up my cluttered home. It was better than acting like an irrational, impulsive idiot and setting out after Victor. And believe me, the urge was there. I could coax Lissa and Dimitri on staying on the sidelines, but forcing myself to follow their example was easier said than done. The only resolve stopping me was the fact it could literally be the death of me. That kind of thing ruined your weekly plans, and fast.

So, instead, I tried to conjure up my maternal instincts and clean something for once. It _was _instinct for girls to cook and clean, right? I hardly fit the Snow White, Modern Housewives image but even I didn't have an excuse for the horror scene in my bedroom. Clean-and-polished Lissa would have a heart attack. And coming from a medical examiner that had seen Saw-worthy crime scenes, that was saying something.

Hours passed. After taming the clutter, I did the rare deed of breaking out the vacuum cleaner. Yeah. I was seriously desperate to get my mind off things. I don't think I'd vacuumed since the Foster case last month that had me about pulling out my hair. _Real sanity, Rose. _

But, as it turns out, I didn't have much time to sterilize my house in the end. 15 minutes into it, I heard a knock on the front door over the ancient drone of my dust-covered vacuum. I frowned a little, shutting it off and glancing at the door distrustfully, knowing anyone from Victor Dashkov, Mason, to Bozo the Clown could be on the other side. Propping up the handle, I walked over, grabbing my pistol off the side table before looked out the peephole.

It wasn't at all who I was expecting.

I blinked. Descending from my tiptoes, I took a step back and dismantled my tiny protection system, opening the door both surprised and apologetic. "Hey Jill, I'm sorry, did the vacuum wake you?"

Jill Mastrano, a dainty 23-year old with beautifully wild curls and piercing green eyes, stood at my doorstep. She was my across-the-hall neighbor and currently dressed in flannel pants and a thrown-on, beaten cardigan layering a white tank. "No, no," she said reassuringly, despite her disheveled appearance. "I was up studying and heard you," she explained.

My eyes darted over her shoulder for a second before I ushered the college student in, not about to turn her away. "Come in, come in." She was like a younger sister in some respect. I ransacked her liquor supply at least once a week; that kind of thing practically screamed family. "How's law school going?" I asked, creaking the door shut.

"Awful," she answered truthfully. "Remind me again why I wanted to be lawyer?"

Despite my ramped-up edge, I found myself laughing as I locked the door and padded back across the small living room. "I know right, where the hell was I on career day?"

I rolled back the still vacuum to put away when her voice chimed in, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

I stopped, taken aback, and looked over at her again. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. Why do you ask?" Lord, I hoped I wasn't making the 10 o'clock news along with Dashkov.

She tilted her head. "You always vacuum when you have a really tough case," she said, her intelligent, lawyer-worthy side showing.

I glanced at the vacuum, not noticing the habit before. I looked around, pondering. "Huh." If I was crammed with these kinds of cases all the time, I'd have the cleanest apartment in the city. At the same time, I was pretty sure I'd never get any housework done if I wasn't stressed. _And so answers my mother's question on why I'm not married yet. _

There was another knock on the door, both of us glancing over. "Christ," I murmured, Mason's face flitting through my thoughts. Maybe they did invite the whole police squad down for a keg party. My apartment manager wasn't going to be happy with the commotion. Jill, the polite, honest girl that she was, reached over to open it, my jokes sobering instantly. "No!" I commanded harshly, the girl's hand flinching back. Rightfully, she was bewildered, but moved aside as I picked up my gun and- ignoring her growing startlement- glimpsed out the peephole.

It was my second surprise visitor of the night.

A string of curses flitted through my head as I caught sight of the person outside, slowly closing my eyes and slamming my forehead against the door. Sad part was, it wasn't my almost-murderer at my doorstep- but I was still toying with the idea of jumping out my 4-story window.

"Crap," I muttered under my breath, knowing I'd never make the leap. Remembering Jill, I straightened and threw her a weary, not-too-comforting smile before hesitantly opening the door. A fierce, tiny woman- who, on the outside, didn't look like a threat in the least- stood out in the hall. "Mom," I answered curtly, hanging out the partially-agape door.

The auburn-haired, ex-CIA agent assessed me for a moment over the wrappings of her scarf. Then, striding in between Jill and I and ignoring formalities, she bluntly stated, "You should get a better security system. And that lip stick doesn't suit you at all, Rose, it's too light for your skin tone."

My smile froze over in an instant as Jill gave a small, half-wave, not about to get tangled with my family bantering. Completely understanding, I nodded to her, mouthing "bye" as she slipped out. I shut the door, alone with another personal nightmare. A nightmare I reluctantly loved, but didn't have to like. "Always nice to see you too," I replied dryly, noting I'd have to change my lipstick as well now. I might as well purge my entire beauty surplus.

"Victor's all over the news," she said in a business matter, making herself at home in the adjoining kitchen and kickstarting my coffee pot despite my echoing "Are you serious?" exclamation in the background. I wasn't keen on her taking over my apartment like a military base. But, as usual, she ignored my comments, leaning against the counter with crossed arms. "You're being mentioned as well."

I groaned, both at her and the fact I was being looped into the public story. "Great. Is that what you came to tell me? You could have sent a text."

"I came because you're being hunted by a murderer," she said without batting an eyelash like it was normal small talk between family members. I guess for us, it kind of was. "If you had any sense you would have gone off this case from the start."

I bit back a snappy retort, repressing my flaring temper. Janine Hathaway could push buttons like no other. "Yes, well, it's a little late for that now. He won't kill me, Mom."

"He almost did last time thanks to your carelessness."

I could have beaten my head against the wall. It was like Lissa's frustrating lab all over again. "Gee, thank you for that motherly support," I said, voice dripping with sarcasm as I walked over and finished putting my vacuum away. "Really, you should right a nurturing book, you're killing me with all this encouragement."

"Don't try to be cute, this is serious."

"You don't think I know that?" I exclaimed, ducking back out of the closet. "He's trying to kill_ me_- _again._ I'm not taking it lightly."

Her face remained perfectly blank, turning it to the window. "I hope Mia and Mason's alright out there."

I might as well be a ghost, or at least staple my lips shut. It's not like she listened to me anyway. Or cared. "Dashkov's not after them, Mom," I said, walking across and picking up my keys from the coffee table.

She frowned slightly, picking up my behavior instantly. "And where are you going?

I grabbed my trench coat off the rack, shoving my gun into my pocket."Someplace you're not."

"Rose, be reasonable about this," she said, her tone denouncing like I was a child threatening to run away from home.

"I'm not five, I can take care of myself, believe it or not. And I can do it without your charming company." Unlocking the door, I strode out, ignoring my mother as she stared at the hinges slamming in her face. Okay, maybe I was being a little childish- but, to be fair, it was either leave or see if my Mom could still dodge a bullet. We didn't exactly have a warm mother-daughter relationship. Her being away 99% of my childhood kind of killed that; I didn't need her "worry" now.

Pushing out of the carpet-hissing building a few stories below, I walked out onto the city streets, bundling myself against the biting air of an October night in Boston. Cars lined the pavement, and I knew in two of them my coworkers were eying me from the shadows, perplexed. I didn't glance at any of the tinted windows, walking on among the swirling leaves and gutters.

At least for once I had a good idea where I was going.

Five blocks over, as the houses gradually grew nicer thanks to cliché rich sections of the city, I strode up to a mahogany glazed-door, the glowing address reading 1173. It might have been the middle of the night, but I knew she'd still answer. She had worse cases of insomnia than I did.

Sure enough, after one ring of the doorbell, Lissa opened the door, dressed in a rosy silk top and bleached white jeans. I gave her one of my typical looks as the wind swirled around us. "Why do you always look like you're about to do a photo shoot?"

Her lips twitched up. She guided me in, her house a reflection of her high-class family name. After 20 years, I was used to it, immune to the subtle glitz and glam of the Dragomirs. I might have looked like a poor servant girl next to them, but hey, there's always give-and-takes in friendship. That and I couldn't care less about a dumb Faberge egg that probably cost more than my yearly salary. Lissa walked ahead into her kitchen, pouring me a small glass of champagne before stopping, dumping it out, and handing me a beer instead. I smiled. She knew me so well. "Thank you," I said, taking off my jacket.

She simply smiled back, walking over back to the reports on her counter. Glancing around the kitchen while swirling my drink (she'd redecorated and refurbished since the last time I was here), I slowly trotted over towards her before my eye caught something on the floor. I about choked on my drink, appalled and exclaiming through coughs as I pointed, "Oh god, what is _that?"_

Lissa looked genuinely hurt as she said, "Shh, you'll scare him."

"_He's alive?" _I walked around slowly in a circle, keeping a good distance as I eyed the thing, not sure what the hell to make out of it.

"His name is Bass," Lissa said happily, like she was introducing me to one of her coworkers. "An African Spurred Tortoise. I had him since he was like this big." She made a small pinch with her fingers, walking over to the fruit bowl.

I looked at the huge, weather-battered shell taking up half the aisle. "I've known you since first grade, I would have remembered a 200-year turtle laying in your house."

"Tortoise," she corrected. "And he's only 34."

"Not my point, Liss."

She half-smiled, explaining, "Technically he was Andrea's. He kept him at Dad's house up in Maine and dropped him off back in August since he's going back to Africa for another year."

Andrea was Lissa's older brother and a researcher who traveled to all kinds of crazy places. It still didn't explain the turtle to me though. Lissa plucked a strawberry, walking back over to Bass and saying, "Oh and he's partial to British strawberries."

Bending down, a superhuman feat in her skinny jeans, she dangled the food in front of the brown-spotted shell, the turtle retracting its head back in. Lissa cooed to him, trying to get him back out. I watched, spectator to Lissa's failing attempts to bond with an inanimate shell. If I hadn't been so baffled by the whole thing, I'd probably burst out laughing. "Wow, great pet," I commented. "Really interactive, I bet."

"Mhmm." She patted the tortoise's back lovingly.

I shook my head in wonder and tossed back my beer, walking around the other way toward the guest bedroom. Even I could only handle so much weirdness. "A pet tortoise," I muttered, still barely believing it, trying to nod along with it. "Lissa has a pet tortoise. Yeah, sure who wouldn't opt for a century old turtle over a German Shepard?" Her family, posh as it was, had some seriously messed up twerks, even from my vantage point.

I set down my glass on the table and flopped down on the down-fluffed, velvet sheets of the master bed, staring at the ceiling. The paint job was flawless, leaving no room to scrutinize. Unfortunately, it also allowed my mind to wander. At least I was a little more relaxed in her house than mine.

Like the security tape from earlier, I kept going back and rewinding to make sure my calculations were right. Yes, it'd only been one day. One day and I was reunited with Dimitri, met up with my serial killer, and was officially being stalked by him again. It was insane to even think about. "And he might even finish his goal in the same day. Talk about a kill streak." I ran a hand through my hair, wondering how long I could go without sleep, seeing as I wasn't going to get any anytime soon. I'd have to check with Wikipedia later.

There was another knock on my door. I opened my eyes and lifted myself up for a second before laying back down, my gaze roaming the eggshell ceiling. I played with my hands draped over my stomach. "Go away, I'm sleeping," I called, hoping it wasn't Bass coming into my room to cuddle. Lissa, ignoring my warning, came in, the steps of her heels practically trademarked. Though she didn't say anything, I knew she was probably raising a bemused eyebrow at me. I blew the fallen hair out of my face, still half-sprawled over the bed, knowing it was the farthest thing from a comfortable sleeping position.

There were footsteps and then Lissa laid down too, the mattress sinking next to me. I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, her angel-kissed hair fanned out behind her. "Are we having a sleepover or is this your way to try to sleep with me?"

Lissa laughed, flashing her pearly-white teeth. "You're sleeping in _my_ bed, remember? You don't see me sneaking into yours."

I smiled wryly, turning my attention back up. "What can I say, Liss? You're hard to resist. That and my bed isn't a thousand dollar Temperpetic." My mattress had the back support of cardboard.

She rolled her eyes before we lapsed into silence, both of us gazing up while shadows of smiles hinted on both of our lips. I scanned the paint again. Back when we were little, the ceiling used to be littered with glow-in-the-dark, stick-on stars and we'd point out made-up constellations like how other kids would point out cloud shapes. It kept us entertained for hours. I smiled wider at the memory, noting several places where small glue spots still stuck.

Being an only child, and Lissa being from a distant and busy family, we'd bonded like sisters. After all the roller coaster ups-and-downs of my chaotic life, being next to her like this again was like coming home. It was soothing. Warm. Peaceful.

A scuffle resonated from outside the door, shattering the tranquil trance. I rose myself instantly, the bells in my head going off. Lissa, surprised, got up with me, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. "No no, it's okay. It's just Bass." I glanced at her before back out, the veins in my neck showing visibly as I swallowed, every muscle in my body strained. My heartbeat had doubled in a second flat. Slowly, I let Lissa guide me back down, her doe-wide, jade eyes overflowing with concern before she laid back beside me.

Again, I tried to control my breathing, staring at the starless ceiling while my fingers brushed against my scars, the indents scorching like hot coal. I felt myself softly shake my head against the jasmine-bathed pillow, my eyes still on the heavens as my body gave a shaky, hollow laugh. _Impossible. It has to be, right? _That's what I thought before. But even though it was impossible, it was real.

And even though I laughed, I wanted to cry.

Laying down next to Lissa, raw fear gnawing me from the inside out, I whispered softly, "I've never been more scared in my life."

**Poor Rose. She's been through so much. I love Bass though haha, I had to throw him in.**

**Oh God, it's been 3 months since I updated. Man I suck. At this point, I'll be shocked if any of you still know what's going on. Don't worry, I'll get through Dashkov and Rose and throw in some personal Dimitri time soon. You guys deserve at least that much.**


	8. Love Letters on Tombstones

Fear turned out to be a worse supplement for insomnia than I expected. As the sun crept into the sky, I found myself wide-awake, Lissa having fallen asleep beside me in her Milan-runway clothes, clocking out hours ago while I stayed on patrol. I sighed and passed a hand over my weary face, reluctantly getting out of bed. I must have damned Dashkov a hundred times as I headed to headquarters.

It didn't help that mornings were a bitch to begin with.

Sporting a plain tee and black slacks, I walked down my unit's hallway, barely having stopped for necessities. And by necessities, I meant a double order of mochas. Pushing in the door, I heard a familiar voice jab almost instantly, "Jesus, Hathaway, you look like you slept under an overpass."

Two steps into the office earned me that charming greeting. No surprise, considering the source. I shook my head, in no mood to play with him today, my sharp tongue lively despite my dragging feet. "How _are_ you still single?" I asked in wonder, maneuvering past Stan as he popped closed a vanilla envelope. The only reply I got was a smug smirk. I knew homicide detectives were known for their ego (and, yes, that included me), but by God did Stan set the bar to a whole new level.

And trust me, I knew what I looked like. It wasn't runway material. Insomnia wasn't exactly an equivalent remedy to beauty sleep and not even a rare, healthy dose of mascara and foundation could help me today.

Even Mia had something to say, her ocean-kissed irises going wide at my approach. "God, what, were you on neighborhood watch all night? You look like you got hit by a truck."

Warm welcomings. My coworkers were the supportive type.

"Good morning to you, too," I said dryly, setting down the other cup of coffee in my hands, this one balancing two packets of sugar and two creams on top. I knew how Mia took her coffee back from when we were the dynamic duo. I half-sat on the corner of her desk, holding my own Styrofoam cup.

I'd gotten a grand total of two hours of sleep at the Dragomir's apartment, even without a cuddling session with Bass. Adding in what I got the night before, I was running on 5 hours for the past 48. Coffee was probably the only thing reanimating my corpse, against Lissa's doctoral advise. I glanced at her screen, currently running a DNA analysis. "Get anything?"

"Not much," she said, glancing down at her papers, her tone suddenly turning bitter. "I was too busy being distracted by your _partner."_

Uh-oh. Internally, I groaned. I knew that tone. Mason was picking fights all over the place lately- however, I had a strong suspicion he hadn't been the one to throw the first punch this time. I glanced around for him, and, finding the office dead, murmured to her quietly, "For God's sakes, Mia, are you really going at this thing with Mason _again- now?_"

She didn't dignify that with a proper response, only saying, "Don't know what you're talking about." She blatantly feigned ignorance, scanning her computer screen instead. I sighed. Mason and Mia weren't exactly buddy-buddy. Despite us being on the same team, Mia was still a rank ahead and Alberta had assigned Mason as my new partner a year ago to compromise. To say Mia wasn't thrilled with the addition would be an understatement. It left her partner-less and me constantly running off with Mason instead of her. She was great at what she did, but the situation still left her with a not-too-warm-and-heartfelt edge toward Mason.

And _man _could she seriously hold a grudge. Leave it to my partners to start an internal war well I was juggling with a serial killer. They were probably going at each others throats in the car last night.

I thought I'd been childish before but Mia was putting that act to shame. At least it matched her appearance more than her typical, snide police cover. "Look, it's not Mase's fault he got paired up with me," I told her.

She pretended not to hear me "The hiker's clean, we just did another scope of the area where Gabe was found. There's nothing."

I gave her a look, knowing she was changing the topic on purpose (a habit she'd picked up from me), before pushing forward her cup. She didn't bother hiding her annoyance, looking up from her report. "You want to hear what I got for the lab or not?"

"Yeah, you want to drink the coffee?"

She held my gaze for several seconds, jaw set tight, before her eyes flickered to her cup. "I take three sugars," she finally said.

I could have thrown my hands up in defeat. "Oh for Christ's sake, since when?"

"Since I don't know, for a while," she defended before accusing, "and you would know that if we were still partners."

We lapsed again into a silent stand-off. I knew by one look that she wasn't completely liable for going after Mason and I. I could see rings under her eyes as well and knew this case was just as stressful for her. I'd snapped at Mia repeatedly over the past two days; I shouldn't be that surprised she was lashing out at us reflexively, too. Silently, I damned Dashkov for the thousandth time. Not only did he want to drag me down, but he was intent on taking everyone else along for the ride. He was damn good at it, too.

"Fine," I said with only a slight edge, sipping my drink in compensation for both of us. "What about the semen we found?"

I could sense some of Mia's own anger disperse as she glanced back at the screen. She hated when her childish side spoke for her, and hated even more when we were mad at each another because of it. It didn't stop her from telling the sweet-and-short truth though. My hand stopped cold as she said point-blank, "No hits."

I stopped and stared at her, disbelieving. "That- how is that possible?"

"Easy, our unsub isn't in the database," she said. "We found two fingerprints on her wrists, too, there's nothing. Our unsub's a ghost."

Well, there goes his apprentice's ID. "Great," I muttered, the pit in my stomach deepening. The one solid lead we had had gone up in smoke overnight. Mornings really were a bitch.

There was another stretch of silence and Mia's initial irritation ebbed away like the tide as it dragged on. After a few moments of clicking around on her computer, she paused and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry," she said quietly in the silent room, the only other noise the distant hum of ringing phones three doors down. "I know I shouldn't be going at this now. And I'm sorry about the other day. I should have given you a heads-up." She paused before adding, "About both things."

An apology from Mia, even a lame and choppy one like that, was rare. My tense shoulders relaxed. "It's okay," I told her truthfully, already over it.

"No," she said, to my surprise. "It's not."

I held her gaze for another moment before glancing down at my hands. With all the insanity going on, a "sorry" here and there went a long way. I knew I wasn't going to get an apology letter from the guy bent on killing me but it was nice to hear it from someone. I looked around, noticing that Mason wasn't the only agent missing in action. "Where's our Men In Black consultant?"

Mia looked puzzled now. "Dimitri? He didn't tell you? I thought you were keeping tabs on him."

We stared at each other dumbly, equally out of the loop. Oh lord. We sounded like a couple wondering where our runaway puppy had went. But come to think of it, I hadn't seen Dimitri since the security tape of Dashkov came into the evidence room and then he'd vanished out the room with Alberta. I didn't have the faintest clue where he was now.

Well damn.

I'd lost Dimitri the puppy.

The ringing of the land line distracted me from that train of thought before I could post signs around the neighborhood. I jumped down and walked over to my desk, the chord unraveling like a snake as I answered. "Detective Hathaway."

It was local PD. I could feel Mia's eyes on me as I breathed out not-so-peacefully, exhaustion rising to the surface as they gave me the scoop. "Yeah, I'll be right there. Page Mason." I hung up before addressing Mia, "Keep checking the database." I grabbed my gun and badge, my prize-stealing mocha disregarded on the corner of my desk. Mia saw that as an instant cue for trouble. She was right. I tucked my pistol into my belt. "They just found another victim."

* * *

><p>The soft clinging of medical utensils and the aroma of aftershave mixed with the salt-laced air greeted me at the crime scene. Lissa and Dimitri were already with the victim. Looks like I wouldn't have to put a bolo out on him after all. Dimitri's presence both relieved and surprised me, based on Mia's blank intel, but as it always was these days, there were more important things at hand than wondering where he'd been for the past 18 hours. It was probably on an FBI need-to-know basis anyway.<p>

PD officers meandered through the living room, jotting down notes and snapping pictures, but it was clear the medical examiner and FBI head had the spotlight here. Walking in, hair tied up and gloves snapped on, I took in the scene. It was definitely a far cry from our last one. The beach house was sprinkled with shell decor and splashes of baby blue. The immobilized, duck-taped male half-glistening red in the sunlight kind of broke the warm, homely vision.

A gaudy, seashell-lined frame caught my eye as I tried to ignore the building wave of nausea. It was a photo of our victims- or so I assumed, seeing as we only had the guy currently. I snagged it from the side and walked over to Lissa, flashing the happy couple. "Let me guess, the girl is missing?"

Lissa straightened from her work, leaning over. Both of us took in the photograph as she nodded. "Yes, his name is John Grant." She pointed to the brunette beside him. "That's his wife, Emmaline." She was pretty and small with a heart-shaped face. I hated to even think of where she was now.

"Well that's not predictable at all," I murmured, scanning the perfectly-polished floor panels. "No tea cup this time?"

"No, he didn't need a warning device," Dimitri said, still sporting the FBI suit off to the side, much to my annoyance. It was hard to do my job with the distraction of a 6'7" god in the room. "He had an accomplice this time. And his work is already trademarked."

"Yeah, well," I said, handing off the frame to Lissa who set it down on the couch. "Dashkov loves to be thorough."

"Rose?" Our group's attention diverted to Mason, the red-haired detective stopping on the step right before the foyer.

I angled toward him, in the middle of rolling up my sleeves. "What's up, Mase?"

I could see him hesitate, struggling with words for a moment before gesturing back behind him, lowering himself a step. "You better come see this."

I frowned. Lissa and I shared a quick, tale-tell glance, guessing the others thoughts. This wasn't going to be good news. From an outsider's point of view, we probably looked like we were mentally linked with our syncracy. Mason led us down the side of the house where a police officer was in a battle royale with a middle-aged man holding a flower bouquet. "Look, all I know is I got a delivery for a Hathaway," he said gruffly, clearly irritated he couldn't just drop his load and scram.

In my career, the last thing I got were flowers on the job. "That's me," I affirmed, stepping off the staircase, a little weirded out by the strange scene. The deadpan deliverer handed over the styled bouquet of thorn-laced red roses. I didn't take it. A card sticking out of the stems distracted me, the cover imprinted with a familiar logo of a national flower company. There were at least 10 of their shops in Boston alone. I plucked the condensed letter off of the stand, opening it and sliding out the note inside. Lissa read it alongside me, Dimitri hovering on the sidelines.

_Prickly on the outside, succulent on the inside. Just like you. _

_Best- Henry Deduboto_

I rolled my tongue under my teeth, restraining myself from crumpling the note. Victor really did love to toy with me- not that it packed a huge punch anymore. "How much you want to bet Dashkov wasn't in the poetry club in highschool?" I muttered, only slightly stirred by the memo. I'd gotten (cliché) rose bouquets from guys since I grew into my C-cup in 9th grade. Dashkov would have to try harder to get under my skin- though I definitely wasn't keen on him knowing where I was 24/7. Feeling like you were being watched, and by a serial killer at that, was hardly comforting.

Lissa frowned to the side, focused on the second strange aspect of the letter. "Who's Henry Deduboto?"

Another, more important realization dawned on me. This time I flashed the card like it was a winning lottery ticket, showing a little Stan-worthy smug. "Now how much you want to bet it's his apprentice?"

Lissa caught on instantly. Anagrams, playing off the letters in one name and rearranging to form another, were common in our field. Obviously a killer wasn't going to give us his signature and name wrapped in a small bow, but messing with us was definitely in their quota. And _definitely_ in Dashkov's.

"I'll send it to Mia right away," Lissa said, already taking off her latex and reaching for her Blackberry as she trotted back up the staircase, texting Sargent Detective Rinaldi our latest lead.

I could see the deliver getting more impatient by the second. Yeah, _he _had a rough job. Shoving down the urge to roll my eyes, I took the basket from him, leaving the original officer to deal with him. I glanced at the blood-red petals. If they weren't considered evidence, I'd already be throwing the roses away. Evidence or not though, I wasn't keen on keeping a hold onto them. I glanced up as Dimitri strode over from the end of the staircase. "Flowers?" I offered.

He studied the bouquet for a moment before saying, "Hybrid tea roses. One of the most common around."

"What, you're a florist now?"

A faint hint of a smile played on his lips, but I knew he wasn't the kind to smile on the job. "No, just knowledgeable." He looked at me, his humor sobering in an instant. A frown crossed his face instead. "You're exhausted. Have you been sleeping at all, Rose?"

Mentally, I swore. My foundation was really failing its job at hiding the rings under my eyes. "Here and there," I answered evasively. "I've been a little busy recently, getting hunted and all."

I knew that was a bad answer as soon as I said it. Dimitri was still doing well at keeping a blank face, but I could see his frown deepen, worry underlining his stoic visage. He also happened to be the type to take things on himself, like the fact I wasn't sleeping was somehow his fault. He didn't deserve to beat himself up over this though.

"Hey it's fine," I told him, trying to veil that lie with my emergency, off-hand flippancy. "Mason and Mia are already babysitting me overnight, I'll catch up on my sleep in no time with the delta team outside." No need to tell him I wasn't at my apartment most of the night. I handed him the roses. "But _in_ the meantime, I have to follow up with Mia. You can take that for printing if you want- or give it to your niece for prom, whatever works."

Knowing I was going to blow my carefree attitude if I stuck around any longer (if he hadn't already seen through it), I headed back up. As I ascended the stairs, I couldn't help a glimpse back, able to ignore temptation for only so long. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dimitri open the lid to a rusted trashcan lined against the porch's concrete- and promptly dump the roses inside. An echo rang out as he shut it closed, merciless to the poor plants.

Guess it wasn't important evidence after all.

* * *

><p>The list of names was endless. I scrolled through, my lips pressed against my knuckles as I leaned on them. "Bundy Theodore... Ted Bundy!"<p>

Lissa looked up from handing a pen to Mia, frowning. "That's 5 letters too short for that anagram."

She was almost faster than the computer. "How do you do that?" I clicked again, a new name splayed across the screen. "Fine, how about Theodore Bundy?" I asked, Lissa's heels clicking as she walked over, opting for dark pumps to match her navy dress today. "He was fascinated with necrophilia, just like the apprentice."

"Could be," she said. "It would explain Gabe's positioning back in the wood's, just like a lover."

"So he could go back and visit," I confirmed, Gabe's profile now maximizing onto the screen. "But we found her," I said slowly, fitting the pieces together, "so he had to go and kill again, this time with Dashkov to get a new subject." I looked at Lissa for objection. I got none. It was a theory, but it didn't leave us with much.

My phone rang on my desk, the tone belonging to Mason's cell. Lissa looked startled. "Is that a death march?" she asked, the impending-doom organ blaring through the office.

"Are you kidding, I saved that for my mom's ringtone." I picked up, noting that Lissa wouldn't be happy to know she got assigned theJoker's laugh from _Batman_. Mason was working the field this time around; after the tensions with Mia, he was happy to steer clear of the office until she diffused. "Find anything?" I asked, closing the laptop's reports. My finger froze over the touch pad, Mason's voice only slightly muffled by sucky reception. "What? Where?"

He told me. I stared at the set background on my computer, a picture of me at a coffee bar with Sydney. I was the only one sharing smiles that day. In the background of my background (if that was politically correct, which I doubted), there was a bouquet of roses, similar to what Dashkov and his partner had lovingly sent. It was strange what things you noticed- and what things you could connect. A plan, quick and sudden, threaded together in my head as Mason's information spilled in, pairing with the theory Lissa and I had devised.

It was a long shot. A _really _long shot. But everyone has to take a leap of faith sooner or later, right?

"We'll be right there." I snapped my phone shut, standing. Eyes flickering to Lissa, knowing she'd have to change footwear for our next adventure, and worse, knowing her usual professional ways, I told her without sugarcoating it, "You are _not _going to like what we're about to do."

From the look on her face, she already didn't.


	9. Blood Red

Lissa ended up driving. Don't get me wrong, she didn't have my blessing in steering my baby, best friend or no. I had put up a good fight in the matter, vehemently refusing and shielding my keys at the suggestion (as a protective mother should), but she'd used gentle-edged logic to persuade me in the parking lot. Between my lack of sleep, stress over being hunted, and typical bad driving habits, she convinced me I was in no state to drive.

To put it simply, she'd used her schooling in psychology to trick me into handing over the keys. Normally I'd have called her a crafty bitch, but because it was Liss, I saved my money for the swear jar and opted for sulking in the passenger seat.

I hated sitting out on the bench, especially in my own car.

But, considering I was about to blindside her, too, the least I could do was call shotgun without (much) protest. Remembering I had to be on top of my plan to make it work, I sent Mason a covert text, giving him a heads up that I was about to stir trouble.

_Take everything off the radio. Take his phone. Hide your car. _

It took him only a couple seconds to respond.

_Done and done -M._

The one thing I really loved about Mase was how well he rolled with things. I could only hope Lissa would be just as easy to win over. Plunging back into Narnia, aka my codename for the wifi-lacking forest near the city, Lissa drove up to where Mason had originally instructed. I thought we'd been in the middle of no where before, but this was really pushing the button. We were making our own road at this point as we tore through the underbrush.

A glint of recognition dawned in Lissa's eyes at our surroundings. "Your unit found Emmaline?" she asked, the question seeming to answer itself by her tone.

Though it wasn't the same area as before, the setting was similar. I shouldn't have been surprised she fit two and two together. It's not like I'd ever happily travel out here for a weekend hike. "Not my unit per say," I answered ominously, postponing lopping her into the plan. "Mason's keeping the discovery under wraps for now."

Lissa gave me a sideways look. Even without a clear heads up, she knew my headstrong plans were more based on leaps of faith than ethical procedure.

If only she knew the half of it.

A couple minutes later, I spotted Mason up ahead on a hill, his red hair like a flame under the sunset's light. Lissa came to a stop and killed the engine as I got out and hiked up ahead as she rummaged through the backseat, silently dreading her upcoming reaction. She already wasn't happy about leaving her heels behind. "Anyone else know the body's out here?" I asked Mason.

He shook his head, leading us up as Lissa joined the party, her medical bag in hand. "Only call he made was to 911, the dispatcher put it straight through to me."

"Alright, good." I saw the hiker as we crested the hill, the sandy-haired guy shifting nervously from foot to foot. It was clear he wasn't sound in getting involved in police business. "What's he doing all the way out here, anyway?" I asked.

"Looking for Indian arrowheads, apparently," Mason said. "He didn't expect to find our missing victim."

I grimaced. Mason had told me on the phone earlier that another hiker had found Emmaline exactly like how we'd discovered Gabe. Hopefully this time though, we could use it to our advantage. At least that's what I was gambling on. Lissa went ahead toward the body, brushing back branches to get to her. I lagged behind and touched Mason's arm, quietly instructing him, "Take the hiker back to headquarters, see how long you can hold him." He nodded. As we began to split our separate ways, I called back and added, "Call Mia, get her out here, and tell her the plan."

"I'm on it," he said obediently, herding the hiker back down the hill with him.

Lissa glanced over her shoulder curiously. "What plan?" she inquired as she reached Emmaline who was on the other side of a fallen tree in a small pine bed clearing, robed in leaves. Lissa, as efficient as ever, promptly squatted down to examine her.

I stopped on the opposite side of the tree, hesitating for a moment before telling her, "We're going to surveillance the body."

I might as well have told her her beloved Bass was in the obituary section of the newspaper. She looked up, incredulous, before straightening. "You mean leave her here?"

My tongue felt like lead. I hated being the bearer of bad news, especially when I sympathized. _I_ wasn't even fully on board with my plan, but I couldn't turn back now because of empathy. "Yes," I confirmed, seeing her jaw line tighten almost immediately as she glanced away, her typical cues of being upset. I wasn't surprised at her reaction; even if her job creeped the hell out of me, she was diligent, and not helping Emmaline at this stage in this game was unthinkable for an ME, especially one like Lissa. "I said you wouldn't like it, now let's go."

"No," she said defiantly, meeting my eyes again. "I'm calling my team."

"Liss," I interjected quickly, trying to appeal to her logical side while hiding the urgent edge in my voice, "they weren't expecting anyone to find this body, look at where's she's hidden!" I breathed, focusing on calming myself. "Alright, hear me out. We get the hell out of here, we put both park entrances under surveillance-"

"What makes you think Victor isn't watching you right now?" Lissa asked quietly, putting on her gloves.

"He might be," I admitted, refusing to back down despite the chill that notion left me. "I am willing to take that bet."

"What, so we just leave this poor girl here in hopes that they'll return? No, no," she said, shaking her head, hurt I'd even suggest such a thing. "Every second she stays here more forensic evidence is lost."

"Lissa, please, I am begging you," I pleaded, ramped up to my breaking point. We were wasting too much time. I had to get us out of here. "I can't keep playing Dashkov's game like this, because at this rate," I told her point-blank, knowing it was the only way to get through to her, "he is going to win and he is going to kill me."

She stopped. Lissa looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time since Victor escaped. I told her last night I'd never been more scared in my life, but I'd still been able to laugh a little and brush it off with typical Rose flippancy. I couldn't do that anymore.

I was choking on fear, burning with apprehension as the dragging debate jeopardized our safety. "Look, the faster we get out of here, the better chance we have of not being discovered, okay? Because if we don't do this, we got nothing. If we take this body back now all we'll find out is- yup, she's dead. And they killed her." This time, when Lissa looked at Emmaline, pity and moral struggle were mixed into her gaze. I'd broken through to her. "Please," I said again, lowering my voice. "Do this for me."

Lissa was an angel in all forms of the word. Her platinum blond hair glimmered white-gold, like a halo, as the sun crept down the horizon, her pale lips formed into a grimace as they reluctantly formed the word "okay". She stood, leaving Emmaline at peace in her makeshift grave.

A weight lifted off my chest. She wasn't happy, but was on board with the plan.

_Better make it count, Rose_.

* * *

><p>Night setting in both hindered and propelled the plan. The blanketing darkness obscured our vision and chances of catching them, but if there was a time when they'd visit, it would be now. We'd have to make the best of it.<p>

Lissa and Mia were posted at the north entrance, Mason and I covering the south. It would have helped to recruit Dimitri or Sydney into the mission but both of my partners had affirmed that the fewer that knew, the better. So we were on our own in my crazy plan. Luckily, my small unit was used to getting dragged into them by now and making them work.

I sat in the passenger seat of the squad car (again much to my distaste), eyes already adjusted to the black shadows of our lovely, horror movie scenery. Mason was slouched on the driver's side, yawning and subsequently making me yawn. I leaned off the window and swatted him. "Knock it off, you're going to make both of us fall asleep."

"Right, not like we couldn't use some shut-eye." He sunk further into the chair.

I rolled my eyes and clicked the button on the walkie-talkie. Text or phone calls were out of the question at the moment. "Still got the entrance, Mia?"

A buzz of static came back almost immediately. "Got it. We're clear."

"Alright, keep your eyes peeled." I clicked off the receiver, sighing. "Victor had to choose a forest," I muttered, not keen on our location, especially in the dead of night.

"Could be worse," Mason offered. "He could have lured us into a room like one of those Saw movies."

Boy, how comforting. Mason really knew how to put a girl at ease. "Thanks so much for putting that possibility into my head," I said, knowing I'd been thinking about horror movies but not actually considering being in one.

He smiled. "Oh come on. At least we're sticking it out together, right? Good company and all of that."

I glanced at him from the side, deciding it couldn't hurt to poke at him a little. It was normally how we kept awake on outposts anyway. "Is that your way of hitting on me, Mase?"

He looked playfully offended I'd even suggest that. "Of course not, I wouldn't come onto you- not in such an unromantic scene anyway. Have some faith. I'm just glad I got better company that Mia." He stretched back in his chair. "She'd never let me sleep on the job."

"Yeah well, you're not sleeping with me, either." I knew I should have rephrased that one better as soon as I saw him smile. I rolled my eyes. He was such a kid sometimes. "Now stay sharp or I'll tell Alberta to cut your salary for the month."

He pouted. "Oh come on, that wasn't even fair the first time." Before I could guess what he was doing, he opened the door and slid out. I sat up.

"What, are you going to go sleep upside-down in a tree like a lost boy?" If anyone had dibs on sleeping, it was me.

"Don't be silly, I'd never do that in this suit. I have to pee."

"You've got to be kidding me." We were in the middle of a stake-out and he had to void his bladder.

The only answer I got was a lopsided grin. He walked off, hands in his pockets and probably whistling like it was a casual restroom break. I sighed and leaned back into the upholstery, keeping a closer watch in his absence. Crickets and the faint cry of an owl rang out, the scene otherwise silent as the minutes dragged on. I glanced at my watch and then around. He was no where in sight.

"Later that same day," I muttered. "Come on!" I got out of car, popping closed the door as quietly as possible. "Mase!" I hissed quietly, turning on my flashlight and flashing the beam around. Still nothing. If he screwed up the mission because he had a small bladder, I was going to do a lot worse than swat him. I looked at the car then shook my head, abandoning my post momentarily to creep along the forest line, searching for him. "Mase. Mason!" I whispered.

Walking through the maze of trees, I switched off my light for a second, glancing around. Seriously, how far did a man have to travel to urinate safely? I turned the flashlight back on, hissing for the seventh time, "Mason, come on!"

There was a scuffle farther off. I turned toward it, the beam glinting off tree branches. "Mason?" The scuffling increased, my hearing perking as I looked out further.

Suddenly, through an opaque curtain of vine, I both saw and heard a figure run through the forest, veiled in darkness as he snapped through the underbrush. One glance told me for sure it wasn't Mase, the build too tall for my partner. It had to be someone else.

Say, like, Victor Dashkov.

The knot in my gut tightening, I broke into a run, whipping past the snarled branches of the forest as I gave chase. They'd come. They really had come. There was a splash of water down below, the grass-dressed hill giving way to gravel and a small stream. He'd run into the stream and was following the current. Forgetting the flashlight, I kept the hand on my belt near my gun, knowing a roundabout way to cut him off.

As the figure sprinted through the shallow bed of water, I caught up on the opposite side, blindsiding him and ramming into him for a tackle. _That_ was easier said than done.

I knew the instant I slammed into him it wasn't Victor. Though he had the height down, the hidden figure was too built to match my would-be-killer. My mind went instantly to the next explanation. Was it the apprentice? Jesus Christ, had Dashkov recruited an NFL linebacker? Honestly, at that point, I wouldn't have doubted it. It felt like I was hitting a brick wall.

The tackle sent us both down into the water, the spray hitting the shore. Because I was on top, I had better recovery time, getting to my feet, gun in hand. "Stay down, put your hands on your head!" I ordered harshly, my hair plastered to my cheeks and my wet clothes clinging to my body.

"Rose, Rose, it's me," a familiar, accented voice said as the soaked figure in black rose to face me, hands up.

The moonlight hit his face. It was Dimitri.

I stared, stunned and reeling, before my temper took over, all hell breaking loose. "What the hell are you doing here?" I yelled, still pumping strong with adrenaline, my arms slagging as I lowered my gun even though I had half the mind to shoot him.

"I _was_ chasing Dashkov," he said stoically.

Bewildered and on edge, I glanced out toward where he was heading before looking back at my ex-partner, shoving him roughly on the shoulder. "What do you mean you were chasing Dashkov?" I shouted. "How do you even know he was out here?"

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but a weak voice resonating through the night stopped him.

"Rose," came a faint, hoarse voice near the shore. "Hello? A little help over here."

I recognized that voice instantly as well. "Mason?" I asked, calling a ceasefire with Dimitri momentarily to shove through the branches on the other side of the stream, following his voice. I shone my flashlight, Dimitri right behind me, the light hitting a still figure on the ground.

"Officer down," Mason mumbled, on a bed of gravel and pine, his jacket sprawled around him. There was a pool of red, my heart constricting. No. No, no, no. I ran to him. He was holding his neck, blood dripping down his collar and through his fingers. "Officer down..."

"Oh my god, Mase." I went to his side immediately, my knees digging into the sharp rock as I knelt over him.

"Oh hey," he said, seeing me, holding his cut throat as if I'd finally come to the party. His blue eyes glimmered in the silver light, but they were dimmer than usual, drained of his usual fire.

Still boiling with adrenaline, I retrieved my walkie-talkie from my belt, hitting the receiver and reporting, "Officer down, Mia, officer down."

Mia's distressed voice paired with mine. That was never a report we wanted to hear or send. "Where are you?" she demanded through the static.

Dimitri took the device, reporting our location as I busied myself with Mason. "He snuck up on me," he said hoarsely.

"Okay, okay, it's going to be fine," I promised him, holding my hand over the one on his neck, adding pressure as I laid my other hand on the side of his cheek. "Save your breath, everything's going to be fine."

Dimitri leaned down next to me and we exchanged a look. I don't know what my eyes reflected just then. Panic? Worry? Horror? Whatever it was, it was enough to draw out a face I'd never seen Dimitri play. We were really pulling out different sides of each other during this case.

I had no time to think about that though. I was consumed with fear over Mason, a fear that almost won out the one of myself getting killed. I faintly heard our station connect to 911, Mia getting an ambulance out to the scene. I went back to focusing on Mason, brushing back his hair.

He swallowed through the blood. "I'm sorry," he whispered to me, making my heart clench more and my fingers tremble, Dimitri preoccupied with the medics.

I don't know why he was apologizing. None of this was his fault. I was the one that had let him go alone and invited Dashkov to a clear opening, slashing his throat and putting his life in danger. I felt the tears bead behind my eyelids as I held Mason, the stream of blood continuing to flow through our fingers.

None of this was his fault. This time, everything was on me.

**Forgive me for the filler chapter last time, hopefully this one makes up for it a little. Feel free to make bets on whether or not Mason survives. It didn't turn out very well for him in the books, but who knows? I'm a sympathetic writer. That and I just love Mason's characters as a whole.**

**All comments and favorites are appreciated~ **


	10. Pinpoint

I spent the night in the hospital. It came with all the fun of being watched at my apartment, but with the added excitement of Mason's near-death-experience trying to card him out permanently.

Tonight wouldn't be the night though.

Doctors assured me early on that he'd pull through, the slit not as clean-cut as Dashkov's normal work. He'd been in a rush to take Mason out as a liability, swift and easy, but in the process had missed any of the major arteries. They said he was lucky. Seeing as his attacker was an ace in the whole killing field, I agreed.

"Is he going to need surgery?" I asked. I was already on my 50th question, the nurse giving me the classic run-down. With Mason's family in god-knows-where Montana, I was the runner up for his contact. I'd have happily knocked a couple heads together for a status update anyway- lucky for everyone it hadn't come to that.

"No," the nurse, Tamara, assured me. She was tan and dark-haired like me, somehow even managing to pull off scrubs fashionably. "Right now we've got him on an IV and are waiting for a blood transfusion. We managed to close the incision without any complications."

"Alright, good," I whispered, clearing my throat. "What about his other levels, how did the tests turn out?" Luckily Tamara was a people person and sympathized easily, not minding the Q&A session. She ran me through the list. I was no doctor like Lissa, but the numbers sounded pretty steady as she charted them off. I figured I could breath easy. For the most part, my heated questioning was an attempt to keep me sane and still so I wouldn't end up pacing all 20 floors of the hospital. Gathering information helped ease some of my apprehension. I might have cut out for CIA if it was an interrogation job.

"We're doing everything we can, Dr. Ozera is with him now. I'll let you know if there's any change." Vaguely, I felt something tickle in my brain at the name "Ozera". Why, I wasn't sure. Her voice broke me out of my mulling before I could dig into that one and, reminding myself the last thing I needed was another mystery, I forgot it almost instantly. I thanked her and she walked back to the ER, taking it as a dismissal.

Crossing my arms against a faint chill, I shivered, still soaking wet from tackling Dimitri into a creek. Unlike Tamara, her counterparts at the nursing station were shooting me dirty looks like no tomorrow. _I _might as well have tried to killed someone. Even though it was linoleum floor, which a mop could take care of in 30 seconds flat, the puddle I was leaving in the waiting room wasn't scoring me any points in my favor. At that point though, I didn't care. All I cared about was Mason.

"Rose," Lissa interjected, breaking me from my daydream. No wonder my detective skills weren't getting me anywhere. Everyone kept interrupting me. She'd been lingering in the background with Mia during my debriefing, but came up and touched my arm now, overflowing with concern. "You need to go home and get some sleep."

However, I had already made up my mind. "I'm staying until Mason's released," I said fixedly. According to Tamara's report, he'd be released by morning. I could take another evening without sleep.

Mia, however, wasn't so convinced. "You're being unreasonable," she countered, her tone more gratifying than usual in light of recent events. Normally she'd have grabbed me by the collar and dragged me home by now. "Staying here with insomnia and freezing to death won't help anyone."

"There's already a PD unit guarding this floor, I'll be fine unless Dashkov sneaks in wearing a nurse's costume- and I doubt any Halloween store would carry his size."

"You shouldn't push yourself," Lissa cut in, her voice more soothing than my coworker. "I understand you're worried, but you're soaking wet and Mason would want you to get some rest." She began listing off the effects of sleep deprivation but I cut her off, not needing the PBS special to know I needed sleep.

"Look, I'll get some shut-eye somehow, but I'm not going home tonight. I'm sure they have a sauna of towels around here so don't worry about the dripping wet thing. PD is covering this place, I'll be protected and everyone can get some sleep- you two, Mark, _and_ Mason. Hell, if worse comes to worse, I'll crawl into an adjoining bed with Mase."

Lissa and Mia shared a glance before Lissa weighed me, her jade orbs not missing a beat. She knew that once I stuck to an idea she couldn't change my mind; after several moments she seemed to come to that exact conclusion and sighed, giving up. "You're impossible. Fine, you're going to do as you please anyway." She paused. "Just make sure you don't jump in _his_ bed," she added, her voice a mixture of dryness (knowing I probably would) and doctoral advice.

I rolled my eyes. "For Christ's sake, I'm not going to jump the guy's bones, he just got attacked by public enemy number one. I have some self-restraint."

"Not any I've seen," Mia muttered.

"Rose," another voice jumped in, Dimitri coming up from the elevator side. Our group glanced over as he strode in. Though he said nothing in regards to our ongoing conversation he'd probably arrived just in time to hear my last sentiment. Wonderful. "I need to talk to you. Alone."

There was a serious edge to his voice. He was here on business. My gaze hardened, not in the mood to deal with this. Apparently it showed. Lissa and Mia, sensing it was time to go as tensions between Dimitri and I crackled like lightning, suddenly became really interested in the late hour.

"Wow, is it already midnight?" Lissa asked to no one in particular, glancing at her watch as they edged out in unison. "Well, I better head home and feed Bass."

"Yeah," Mia strung along. "I need to go and... feed my 'Bass' too"

I gave both of them a look, not appreciating the team effort in bailing me with him. "Bass is a turtle, Mia."

"Tortoise," Lissa corrected out of habit.

Mia was just as bewildered as I had been, glancing at Lissa. "You have a pet turtle?" 

"_Tortoise."_

As they debated the principal differences of turtles and tortoises (reminding me I really needed to window shop for better friends), they made their escape. It was just Dimitri and I. Well, us and the pissed-off nurses.

"I don't want to talk to you," I warned before he could get a word in, turning my back on him and going toward the benches. "But nice wardrobe change, comrade," I noted. He'd switched out of his undercover clothes into his standard slacks. He was like a boyscout, prepared for anything.

"Rose, please." He caught my arm, the lightning that crackled this time from something completely besides anger. _Christ _I could not get a break. With as distant as we'd acted the past couple days, I thought maybe the whole touching-spark would have died down.

Clearly I was wrong.

Again though, grabbing my arm was a good way of stopping me and making sure I'd have one less hand to punch him with. We locked into a silent stare-down, both of us braced and prepared for the worst. I knew what had happened to Mason wasn't his fault- it wasn't like he was the one wielding the blade. But right then, I didn't care about logic or semantics. _You weren't supposed to be there_, my head screamed at him. _You did this._

Dimitri looked defeated and worn. Whatever accusations reflected in my eyes he didn't seem to deny. His own eyes were sad in light of Mason, the brown irises melted his pupils, indistinguishable. "Please," he repeated. "I know you're mad, you have every right to be, but you have to understand-"

"Understand? Understand _what_? You thought you could just jump in and save the day, but Mason's lying in a hospital bed with Dashkov still at large. The only thing I understand is that you screwed up my operation so please, go ahead and explain so I 'understand'." Cue air quotes with fingers.

He parted his lips to defend himself, but became distracted by something. With all the craziness running around, he hadn't noticed I was still dripping wet (in comparison to his completely dry state), giving me a once-over. Being Dimitri, he immediately shrugged out of his duster and held it out to me.

I glared at the coat like it had done something wrong. "I don't need it," I said stubbornly, still angry.

He gave me a look. "I assure you, you do, Roza."

I realized then what he was getting at. I was wearing a white shirt. Pair that with getting tackled in the creek and... well. It was about as far as professional as a female cop could get. If I wasn't so mad at him, I would have flushed out of embarrassment. Instead, I simply crossed my arms over my chest, muttering something about men before letting him put it over my shoulders.

My gaze burned into the floor. "What were you doing there?" I demanded quietly. "How did you know we were there, that we were trapping Dashkov?"

There was a heavy pause. Reluctantly and quietly, he said, "I'm sorry, I can't tell you. I'm under specific orders-"

"To hell with that!" I snapped, looking up. If he thought I'd take the 'FBI' card lying down, he had another thing coming. "We're supposed to be a team on this and you're acting like I'm still your helpless student that needs babysitting! I don't care what the hell 'regulations' the FBI handed down to you, comrade, you have no right interfering with my operation- and if that's too hard for you to follow, get reassigned, because I'm not about to put up with it!"

His gaze was hard, almost regretful. "Almost" doesn't cut it though. "Rose, please." Again with the pleads. "You have to understand this case is much bigger than you believe."

"I'd ask what that meant, but you wouldn't tell me anyway, right?"

"I can't," he said through gritted teeth.

"Don't give me that, comrade, if you wanted to tell me, you would. Instead I'm left in the dark while some guy's trying to kill me and send my partner to the hospital. If you know something about this case, I need to know."

"This case is complicated, Victor Dashkov is more powerful than you think and your part in the investigation isn't ideal."

"Oh I'm sorry, is Dashkov hunting you?"

"No, he's hunting _you_, which is far worse." The intensity behind his voice filled the room.

I swallowed. My heated words died on my lips, like he'd suddenly snuffed out the burning blaze between us. A cart, run by one of the nurses on the night shift, clattered past, Dimitri taking a clean towel from the piled mountain. He draped it over my head, gently using it to dry my hair, the black waves rustling underneath. Somehow, the action was soothing. My fists uncurled. Softly, he said, "No matter what you may think, and no matter what may have happened between us before, the last thing I want to see is you getting hurt, Roza." There was an unspoken 'let me help you' message ingrained in his words.

My head was bent, eyes once again avoiding his. "I don't need help," I mumbled. "I'm fine on my own."

"I know," was his only response. He continued to dry my hair regardless. I didn't protest. That was the problem with me. I couldn't stay mad at him, even if I wanted to.

His last words were the ones that really struck me, like an arrow through the chest. W_hat may have happened between us before. _That's right, I reminded myself. I was supposed to be mad at him already, mad about what happened before I'd dropped out of the academy. About what had split us apart...

He led me to chairs and soon enough, I was curled on top of them, Dimitri volunteering to be a pillow, insisting as much as Lissa I needed sleep. "I'm going to ruin your Men's Warehouse slacks," I warned.

"It's alright," he said simply. "These are from the Gap."

I rolled my eyes to hide my smile and rested my head on his lap. Like back in the woods, this was only another cease fire. It didn't solve our problems. But at that moment, I didn't care about the future, only the present. Well, the present and the past, my thoughts still lingering on my days at the academy. _I know I'm supposed to be mad at him, _I told myself, drifting to sleep curled against him.

But.. _why_?

I never got the chance to find out. My exhaustion won out over my chaotic thoughts almost the instant I closed my eyes. Normally I'd have been grateful to get away from my worries about Dimitri (had I had the sense of mind to begrateful) but, unfortunately, this wasn't a normal circumstance. Instead of being distracted by a quaint, simple dream, my head thought it'd be a nice change of pace to switch to another dangerous topic. Like, say, the guy trying to kill me.

Most of the time I payed little heed to dreams. They didn't mean anything. They were just hallucinations, a vacation until I woke up again and got back to reality. But as the room around me solidified, it didn't feel like a dream at all. It felt... _real_.

Back when we were in college, Sydney had had a crazy history teacher that was a firm advocate of magic; that, of course, hadn't meshed well with Sydney's science-and-fact-based world. Sydney vented about her practically nonstop during our coffee breaks. I vaguely remembered her griping once about "spirit dreams", her teacher claiming that people could contact others through dreams and that it was as real as picking up the phone and dialing them.

Obviously, that was insane. Her teacher was off her rocker and, as I told Sydney countless times, would probably be forced to retire before I scored above a "C". Magic didn't exist. But as I looked around the elegant parlor, my stomach twisting into a double-knot, I started to seriously doubt that philosophy. Because turning around, it felt like I was face-to-face with my real life nightmare, Victor Dashkov.

"You're tenser than usual, Rosemary. Trouble sleeping?" He was sitting in an ivory-sculpted chair across the room, next to a harp and grand piano. I noticed he'd also traded out his prison orange for a refined charcoal suit. Everyone was getting new threads these days.

Just seeing him made my body go instantly rigid, doubling that tension in a heartbeat.However, I didn't move. I stayed still at the safe distance, eying him warily. He was too relaxed. Instead of looking at me in that usual and sick, obsessive way of his (that always reminded me of a scientist looking at a test subject), he was studying me curiously. Like he was actually concerned about my health. _This coming from the guy that wants to slit my throat. _"A little hard to be easy-going around you, don't you think?" I answered once I found my voice.

He chuckled. "A valid point." We both knew what happened when I underestimated him. He paused. "Am I the reason behind your worry? Do you think I'm going to kill you, Rosemary?"

Why I was having this conversation with a stress-induced, dream embodiment of Victor I didn't know. Keeping in mind it _was _just a dream helped me roll with it a little better though. "Uh, since I doubt you broke out of maximum security just to have tea, yeah, the idea's crossed my mind once or twice." I stuffed my hands in my pockets. I was still wearing Dimitri's duster. That in itself was comforting. "So is this dream thing my subconscious's way of saying I'm going insane?"

"You're not insane, Rose."

"Could have fooled me."

"You're afraid, that's all. And you have every right to be, I am going to kill you, rest assured." It was like we were talking about the weather and politics. Completely nonchalant. "What happened to your partner was only a warm-up."

Even if _he_ was nonchalant, I wasn't. The meaning of his words slammed into me. Reality slammed into me. My initial wariness melted, replaced by a wild fire as I stepped forward. The images of his scalpel were replaced by Mason and I trying desperately to stop the blood from leaking between our entwined fingers "You. _You _tried to kill Mason."

"If I wanted to kill him, he'd be dead," Victor said simply. "I'm afraid my associate was the one to cause that mess. If it makes you feel any better, I chastised him about it afterwords."

Funny how that doesn't make me feel better. "He's just as bad as you," I replied, unable to comprehend who the apprentice could be. He had to be just as twisted and sick as his mentor.

"I'm not as bad as you believe me to be."

"You've killed dozens of people, woken innocent women up in the middle of the night and slit their throats! You want me to believe you're not bad when you're obsessed with making me one of those women?"

He looked like I'd just insulted his work. "You're not like the others. You're different. That's what makes this so exciting. Anyone else and I wouldn't have bothered."

"Why?" I demanded, daring another step forward. "Why did you choose me, why _me_?" I was the center of his game, but I never understood why. I wasn't his usual memo. He'd always gone after couples until me.

The moment of insult passed and he chuckled like he was answering a child. "That's what I love about you, Rose. You answer your own questions."

I gave him a not-amused look, in no mood to decode what that meant. I might not be going insane, but I couldn't vouch for him. "If I had the answer, I wouldn't ask the question, now would I?"

"Oh you have the answer, Rosemary, and it's laying right in front of you. Why did I pick you?" He leaned forward, elbows resting on the chair arms. There was a feverish edge in his eyes. It really was exciting to him. "You've been asking yourself that every day since that December night when I first tried to kill you, haven't you? 'Why me?' 'Why would he choose me?' That question has been bothering you for years, and yet you can't find an answer. It's very simple. I choose you because of _you_."

I met his stare, not sure where he was getting at. "Well thanks for putting that to rest."

He smiled. "Every boxer fights a worthy opponent. And you, Rose, are the only worthy opponent I've ever had." I stared. _Worthy opponent? So it _was_ all just a game to him? _

"So how does this game end?" I asked. "I'm guessing not with a boxing match, despite your metaphor. We both know who would win there."

"You know exactly how this game ends, Rose."

"You won't kill me. I won't let you."

That comment only served to amuse him. He propped up his chin with his hand. "It's interesting, though. This dream has lasted several hours and yet you haven't made a move to kill me once. Why is that, I wonder?" I blinked. The change of topic had caught me off guard.

Hours? It felt like minutes. No matter the length of time, I realized he was right: _I hadn't tried to kill him._ The guy that was rapt on jumping me in my sleep with a scalpel, had torn my unit apart, and almost killed my partner- not once had I tried to stop him, dream or not. That should have been my first instinct. And yet I hadn't thought about it once.

The air was heavy and foreboding. It made my skin crawl and I wrapped my arms around myself, fighting the chill. I didn't back down from his piercing gaze though. "Neither have you," I pointed out.

His smile made an ice-cold feeling wash over me and envelop me like a blanket. The room temperature plummeted 20 degrees. It wasn't a simple chill like before. This was the coldness of death. "Because when I kill you, it will be in person," he said, his voice not raising despite the volume of everything else. "The nightmare will be real, not one like this you can wake up from. I'll make sure you, my sweet Rosemary, never dream again."

Before I even found my voice, the room slipped away, the connection broken. Just as the dream had solidified, it dissolved like smoke, back into nothingness. Victor was gone. The dream had ended. But instead of waking up in a cold sweat like I thought I would, I found myself plunging into the darkness and sleeping through the night, undisturbed. I didn't dream again.

* * *

><p>To say our unit's section was dedicated to the Dashkov case would be an understatement. The place was trashed with photos of victims, testimonies, and Victor's wrap sheet. The phones were ringing off the hooks as I leaned back against my desk, arms crossed and eyes sweeping over a map of Boston. I hung it up in every mass-murder case to track the culprit. In this case, it took center stage among everything else. Color-coded pins representing the victims so far, husbands and wives alike, were stuck into the green-and-brown paper.<p>

Victor's method seemed simple enough- find a newly-wed couple, catch them unexpected, and play his killing game. But I knew he wasn't sloppy enough to randomly pick a pair off the street and stalk them home. He planned everything out precisely. Everything had a purpose. There had to be a pattern here. A connection.

Blue pins marked the Colbes, Dr. Colbe on the eastern side at his home while his wife, Gabrielle was marked in the forest. Yellow pins represented the Grants. A few miles off from Gabe's pin, Emmaline's daisy-yellow pin bloomed. Her husband, John, was marked on the north-western side at their beach home. The homes were across the city from one another with no middle ground. The Colbes and the Grants had never crossed paths. Two seemingly innocent couples that'd been hand-picked by a killer as his next target.

"But what made Dashkov pick them?" I muttered to myself, staring at the death map. His dream-self had explained why he'd chosen me (if you counted his crazy ramblings as an explanation), but it didn't carry on with the other victims. They looked random. What was the bridge?

"Stare at that map all day and you'll end up in the hospital from a stroke," Mason said.

I couldn't help but smile. "If that hasn't happened yet, I doubt it will." Mason was seated at his desk, going through media reports. He'd changed out of his blood-stained clothes and the only remaining sign of the attack was the bandage on his neck. I was ecstatic to see him up and moving again. Even under the afternoon, fading light his blue eyes danced with energy again. "How are you holding up?"

"Pretty good, especially considering I had someone sleeping at my doorstep all morning."

"That was a one-time-deal," I reminded him, hoping he didn't think I was going to show up at is house with a basket of muffins each morning.

"For you and me both."

My smile widened and I went back to the map, hoping something would have magically popped up in the last 60 seconds. Nope. I sighed and straightened, shuffling my papers. "I hate to say this, but it would almost be easier if there was another murder." That at least might bring some kind of logic to Dashkov's choices.

"Too bad I survived then, huh?" Mason said teasingly.

"You know what I mean. And your death wouldn't help anything, sorry."

"Rose!" I looked up as Lissa darted into my office, looking both nervous and exciting. I could see the stress of the case was beginning to take a toll on her couture-worthy wardrobe, Lissa sporting a last season red dress with- God forbid- ballet flats instead of pumps. I'd long changed into my typical monotone-colored clothes. They looked like they'd been yanked right out of Sydney's closet._ Need to pick up a fashion magazine when this is done_, I reminded myself.

"What's up?" I asked her.

"You know how you tackled Dimitri in the creek?"

"Uh yeah, kind of hard to forget," I replied. I'd have to fess up to Albera sooner or later about taking down a superior federal agent. "What about it?"

"I was thinking about how he could have known where we were and I realized someone could have zeroed in on the GPS on my phone."

"I told you to turn your phone off!" I exclaimed. "For that exact reason!"

"I know, I know, but I was waiting for a call about these pair of Gucci heels, they're only making a limited number." Even as she explained, she looked guilty just admitting it. I really shouldn't have surprised. Though her profession hardly screamed glamor, she still looked like a runway model, beautiful looks aside.

"Seriously, Liss? Heels?" No wonder my operation had sunk, it was being sabotaged my Mason's small bladder, Lissa's heels, and secret FBI intel.

"My point is, after I realized this, I got one of your tech guys to get the number of the person that hacked into my phone. He said he'd have the result by tomorrow."

"It was probably Dimitri," I said dryly, not seeing her point. He was the one that had shown up, he had to be the one that sniffed us out.

To my surprise though, she shook her head. "I ran Agent Belikov's cell phone number first along with the stationed FBI personal in Massachusetts. There wasn't a match."

I stared at her before my thoughts kicked up to overdrive again. The only FBI association with the Boston PD should have been through those numbers. Someone else had hacked Lissa's phone and told Dimitri our location, but he was a straight-shooter. He would only work with the good guys. That didn't limit it only to the FBI though. Suddenly, our conversation from last night hit me. _This case is much bigger than you believe._

I looked at the map of Boston again, zoning in on the forest we'd been in last night, before locking eyes with Lissa again. From her excited and proud look, I knew she'd already figured it out."Someone else is working on this case," I breathed, picking up my badge.

**I feel like a saint for not killing Mason off (since 90% of fanfictions end with something tragic happening to him). But I love him too much to do that. So now we're back to square one trying to pinpoint Victor's next moves. Luckily the climax isn't too far off now.**

**Aaaand since a lot of you have been making small mobs demanding more R&D action, I threw some in prematurely. There's plenty more fun left in that category before this case wraps up. What do you think happened between Dimitri and Rose between the beginning scene (which, come on, was pretty hot) to her dropping out of the academy? **

***cue suspenseful orchestra music and a Ryan Seacrest cliffhanger quote***


	11. Disarmed Heartbeat

_Bzz. Bzz. _The annoying vibration buzzed in harmony with my developing migraine. After listening to organs blaring through my apartment for 30 minutes straight, I'd shut off the ringer, thinking that would silence her. Nothing stopped Janine Hathaway on a mission, though.

"Christ, Mom, give it a rest," I groaned, barely glancing at the phone on my kitchen counter before walking over to pour out my coffee pot. Even though it was 11 at night, I opted for regular over decaf. If I was going to drink coffee, I was going to get all the benefits, caffeine included. Before I could even think about pouring though, my phone vibrated obnoxiously against the granite for the 10th time in a row, making me slam the pot down in frustration. That, however, only served to slosh the drink partially on my hand, scald my skin, and make me twice as irritated as I already was.

I glared over my shoulder at the small device. "I swear to God if she uses the word 'responsibility', 'duty', or 'carelessness' again, I'm going to throw myself out my bedroom window." I stalked over to my iPhone and picked it up, already knowing who the text was from. The beginning and ending were both cut off, the text only a small fragment of her grand reprimanding skills.

_..ictor wouldn't be after you in the first place if you did your job correctly and didn't mix business affairs with your irrational, impulsive behavior. Mia and Mason are protecting you like some sort of Guardian squad and the latter's already been injured. Yet you _still_ can't catch this Dashkov and his unsub after 3 full da... _

Janine's name was plastered above the charming words like a signature. The smile twitching at my lips, instead of having a warm edge because of some mother-and-daughter connection, was frozen solid. We'd been skating on ice before, but this was really pushing the button. Ignoring the growing burn on my hand, I furiously typed back, _You know what, forget I even asked. I'd be better off calling that Turkish mobster guy you hooked up with 28 years ago. He'd at least give me advice and maybe some connections instead of this whole lecturing crap. Thanks a lot for the encouraging words, Ma, it really helps. Sorry if I don't reply, I might have gotten kidnapped or murdered in my sleep or something._

Not waiting for her sharp comebacks, I shut my phone off. I should have done that eons ago, or at the very least blocked her number. I sighed. Asking her for advice on the case was a bad idea from the start. To be fair, the idea of consulting a CIA agent seemed sound. The only thing I'd failed to neglect was the actual person I was texting. "Which happens to be the female demoness of Boston," I muttered.

The realization that Lissa and I had come to earlier this afternoon had shaken me up big time though, enough that I'd dialed my mother up. Someone else was working on this case, someone much bigger than us. Who? The CIA? The NSA? The Secret Service? Why would they be concerned with a murderer like Dashkov though? He might have been terrorizing the Northeast, but it wasn't exactly a national security issue. There was no reason for them to be involved. Even the FBI seemed like a stretch to me.

I shook my head before burying it in my hands, elbows propped on the counter. Dimitri wouldn't tell me anything and I was too proud to pull the we-used-to-have-sex card. Alberta had been clueless when I came to her so that was a dead end, too. I couldn't get in touch with Sydney to save my life, the high-intelligence officer probably pulled out of the US already for another mission.

My hands were completely tied. Everything was a dead end.

I raised my head enough to glance out my living room window, black draped over the city like a curtain. Streetlamps illuminated the lines of cars along the sidewalk, and I easily spotted my unit's car parked near my building. They were still doing surveillance, acting like Guardians just as my mother had pointed out. Mason was out there again, too, steadfast to protect me even in light of his attack. I think that had just made him twice as determined. I chuckled. Dashkov might have met his match after all.

Suddenly, my home phone blared in the dead silence, making me practically leap out of my skin. From there, it was a downwards slope. The surprise had not only made me jump, but caused me to lose my footing all at once. I slipped on the sleek oak floors of my kitchen (which I'd just waxed in my distraction-by-cleaning frenzy), a loud _thud _resonating through my apartment. The phone tipped and clattered beside me, screeching in my ear. The couple living below me probably thought I was getting killed_- _which, really, wasn't too far out of the realm of possibility.

I groaned, flopping on my back. A tangle of hair was in my face. _Please don't let this be my mother. Please don't let this be my mother. _Even if I always had my pistol on me, I didn't want to put it to use. I was too young to go to prison.

On the third ring, I picked up, still sprawled on the floor. Not only did my hand crawl from the burn, but I'd probably busted my tailbone. Lovely. "Hathaway," I answered, puffing hair out of my face, expecting an array of judgment and verbal abuse from my mother like God's hand coming down on me. She was strictly Catholic, despite her chosen profession; she and Sydney hung out at church like an elderly couple hung out at bingo halls.

However, I realized quickly it wasn't Janine. Mostly because I didn't hear yelling within the first 5 seconds. "Rose? Are you okay?" Lissa asked concerned while I sat up, groaning.

"No," I said stonily. "I'm not. Didn't you get my SOS text? I need you to call a hit out on my mother, pronto."

She sighed, her tone exasperated. "God, Rose, you had me worried sick." I must have, for her to use the big guy's name in vain. That was usually my thing, not hers. "I thought you were serious. When you said SOS I thought Victor had broken in or something."

"Liss, I _am _serious, my mother is just as deadly as Victor- and more annoying, too."

Another sigh echoed across the line. "Rose." She wasn't happy with my brand and timing of humor, but at the same time writing it off as me- well, being me. Like she should have predicted as much. "So? What spurred the new battle with your mother?" To her, it could have been any number of things. I gave her a basic recap of what happened. I'd asked for a simple professional opinion on the case and she'd blown it out of the water like usual. Add together that and my temper, and the result was the prolonged Hathaway war. Lissa was quiet as I griped about my mother, pissed off as always after our paths crossed. "Even in the end, she didn't say anything useful?" she inquired.

"No," I scowled. "I could have gotten better tips from Mr. Green in the department's upstairs cafe. Honestly Liss, how have I not killed someone yet?"

I could practically see her smiling. "Maybe you have more self-control than you think."

"This coming from the girl that knows all about the not-so-legal stunts I pulled in highschool." In retrospect, it hadn't been _that _bad. A couple (dozen) skipped classes, hot-wiring a teacher's car, getting into a few fights, claimed fully in self-defense. Most of the time though I hadn't gotten caught. No harm, no foul.

"Anyway if we're talking self-control-" I started again before a knock at the door cut me off. I regarded it in surprise. "Hang on, Liss, I have a visitor. Apparently my apartment's the place to be these days." I gave my coffee maker a longing look, not wanting to part from it again, before I reluctantly walked over, switching the phone to my other ear to carry my gun. If it was my mother, here to scold me in person, I might have to really put it to use. Jail time couldn't be that bad. If it was Jill, I'd probably wind up begging for her to loan me more of her alcohol stash to spike my coffee.

However, swinging the door open, I realized in the space of a breath it wasn't either of my two former guests. The welcoming aroma of aftershave and amused brown eyes greeted me instantly, knotting my tongue. I hated that he had that effect on me, and even more so that the surprise wasn't a bad one. "Rose? Everything okay?" Lissa asked after a space of silence on my end.

"I- yeah, I'm fine. Listen, I got to go. Don't worry it's not Dashkov generously meeting me in person or anything." I clicked the phone off after Lissa bid her farewells. Speaking of self-control, here was the master himself. I looked up and arched an eyebrow, trying to hide my incredulity. "Comrade. How'd you break through Mason's front line?"

Dimitri, in all his 6'7" glory, was at my doorstep. I would have been less surprised if Victor was barging down my door than Dimitri making a casual house call. Even more shocking, he'd traded out his duster for a trench coat. What was this world coming to? "He didn't," a new voice intercepted. Mason ducked his head in, smiling and lounging against the wall. "Have some faith. I saw him coming a mile away."

I noticed then that Dimitri's coat was damp, his hair sticking to his cheeks. He'd walked here, I realized. Good God. It _was _a house call. "You've got to be freezing," I said before I could stop myself.

He only shrugged. I had a feeling he would have shrugged off the cold even if he was trapped in an iceberg. I shook my head in disbelief. Mason, checking his watch, said, "Damn, Mia's going to give Dashkov a run for his money in the killing department if I stick around any longer." He winked. "Don't have too much fun without me."

Before I could say anything, he jogged off, leaving Dimitri and I standing in the hallway alone. Silence fell. I wasn't sure how to take the house call, the lines between business and personal relations beginning to blur. I was getting my headache back just thinking about it. Needing to fill the quietness out of habit, I gave him a wary glance and asked, "Do you want to come in for coffee or something? I just made a batch." _Smooth, Rose. Very witty welcoming line. _I was more hung-up on that forgotten drink than I realized.

Dimitri, however, smiled. "I'd love some." Apparently it hadn't been my worst ice breaker.

I let him in and dead-bolted my door behind him, padding over to the kitchen. "You can hang up your coat over there," I called. He didn't reply but I had an uncanny sense he took my offer. Setting my hand-held items down on the counter, I rummaged through my cupboards looking for a spare mug. By some miracle, I found one, and set to work on getting him his drink (and _finally _mine). Hopefully he didn't mind the caffeine. I dared a peek over at him while the pot rewarmed to its height.

Dimitri didn't say anything, eyes flitting around my apartment. I couldn't tell if he liked what he saw. He had his poker face on, making it impossible for me to decipher where his thoughts were. I doubted they were on my decorum. This proved true when he voiced his next question, though it still caught me off guard. "When did you develop a taste for coffee?"

I blinked. Then, a sudden memory popped into my mind. It was of one of first training sessions. Dimitri had handed me his standard sidekick cup of coffee after I'd accused him of driving me into the ground, having just completed a five-mile sprint with no water breaks. I'd downed the drink (really, I would have drank anything at that point before) before gagging and spatting it out. Whatever look of disgust had crossed my face made him laugh at loud.

_He still remembers that? _A shadow of a smile edged at my lips, despite myself. "I never did," I remarked. "You'd be amazed what a difference ten sugar packets make."

He shook his head ruefully. It was only a small glimpse, but I swear he was edging toward a smile as well. I went to go pour out the coffee, dumping half of the sugar bowl in mine. I knew from experience he took his black. I walked over and handed him the cup from across the counter. "What about you?" I pointed out, standing casually as I sipped the scolding hot liquid. It burned the roof of my mouth. Scalded taste buds aside, it was heaven. "Did you finally get over your western cowboy phase and decide to dump your duster?"

Dimitri looked genuinely hurt at the assumption, more attached to his duster than Lissa probably was to her turtle. I could almost hear her firm voice in my head correcting, _Tortoise._ "Of course not, it's at the dry cleaner's," he said.

My lips were set tight, a vain attempt to bite back my smile. I was slipping terribly and I knew it. "Right, of course. Silly me." He probably had Clint Eastwood posters plastered over his bedroom walls like a teenage girl. I was taking another drink when Dimitri's eyes flitted to the cup.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked.

At first, I thought he was talking about the scars from Victor _Hadn't we been through that story? _Then I realized what he had. My right hand was a searing red and blistering, burnt from when I'd spilled earlier. I was surprised at how bad it'd gotten. "Oh, that. I spilled some coffee accidentally when I took my issues with my mom out on my brewer. It's nothing, really.

"Let me see it."

"Like I said it's nothing-" My words were cut off though as I winced, Dimitri having taken my hand and brushed his thumb over the burn. He gave me a look. "Alright, maybe not _nothing_," I admitted reluctantly.

I have no idea how it happened, but two minutes later I was sitting on my coach with Dimitri and my sad excuse for a first aid kit splayed across my coffee table. I had one leg wrapped up against me, the other hanging off the side. Dimitri was as relaxed as always, treating to the injury like a trained paramedic. I searched his face covertly- what I was searching for, I didn't know- but his expression didn't change as he soothed the irritated burn. My gaze averted to my hand.

"What happened between you and your mother?" he asked quietly. He knew my relationship in regards to my parents were thin, the one with my father nonexistent. I'd talked about my mother a couple times at the academy, mostly to the complain, so he knew about the raging Hathaway war. From the sparse family stories Dimitri told, his tight-knit Russian family was centered around his angel of a mother. It was a little enviable, truthfully. Not that I'd ever let on to that.

I paused, watching as he reached for gauze. "Nothing really," I said. "We had an argument over the Dashkov case."

"She's worried about you being on it?"

"She's berating my stupidity for taking it." A twinge of my old aggravation returned just acknowledging the conversation. '_You still can't catch Dashkov and his unsub after 3 full days'. _I could hear her belittling tone now. She might as well have bragged that she could have had them tied up and dropped off at the police station by the next morning. And why not? She was _the _Janine Hathaway after all.

It bothered me more than I'd let anyone know how my mother's reputation deeply overshadowed mine. Having her judge my work was like a slap to the face.I had lived, breathed, and slept this case for half a week but it didn't change they were still running rampant. What she failed to realize was how busy I'd been tending to other matters like, I don't know, being hunted _myself_, trying to prevent my coworkers from getting killed, and my reunion with my ex-teacher/ex-first-love. Not to mention Dashkov was a bitch to catch to begin with.

Dimitri remained calm, even while I grew more and more upset at the memory. Forget master of self-control. I might as well be chatting it up Buddha himself. "I'm sure that's not true," he said sagely, his voice leveled. "Maybe that's the only way she knows how to show concern."

I looked at him, incredulous. "Are you kidding me? We're talking about the woman that gave me a black eye- _for no apparent reason._" I'd come back Christmas break with half my face swollen, courtesy of sparring with my mother and Sydney. The former had gone outside the lines and socked me. I still maintained it was on purpose. "She isn't worried about me, she doesn't even care. If she wasn't so void of emotion she'd probably be making rally posters for Victor."

He looked uncharacteristically astonished. "She doesn't care about you?" he repeated.

"No." There was venom in my voice. Alright, I was being petty, and I knew it. But for the past 3 days, while I was scared out of my mind facing death, all she had done was criticize me. Like everything was my fault. I might as well go jump off a bridge. It would cut out the suspense of waiting. I bent my head forward, hair falling in my face. "I hate her," I declared. I'd meant for that to come out strong and certain, but it was quiet. Forced.

The hand he was treating was trembling slightly, rapt with the realization of those words. Hate was not an emotion I was generally associated with. And yet, there it was, the edge to my voice pinned against my mother and her transgressions. Dimitri's working hands stopped and he rested mine down in his lap. I felt his gaze on me. "Rose, look at me," he demanded quietly. I couldn't though. I felt like an idiot admitting all this to him. I always wanted to be strong and fearless around him, a picture of perfection, but I was weak. And I knew it. "Roza," he repeated more firmly. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, I tilted my head up. He brushed the hair out of my face, fingers softly, maybe incidentally, running through the silk, dark strands. He held my eyes. "You don't hate her," he said. It sounded like a fact.

My smile lacked humor. "Gonna tell me what I'm feeling, comrade?"

"No. But I know you don't hate her. You don't have room or time to hate." The whole thing sounded like an early Christmas special, but I had to admit, grudgingly, it was true. He knew me too well. No matter how upset I was at my mom, I probably could never hate her. Being pissed-off and arguing all the time? That I could do. Maybe it was just in our blood. Dimitri allowed us to fall into a comfortable silence again while I mulled over his words. The anger pinned at my mother defused over the next few minutes while we sat in the quiet bubble of my living room. My impulsiveness to action often carried over to feelings, unfortunately. I'd been so angry lately it was getting hard to see things clearly. Something dawned on me then.

"We aren't fighting right now," I blurted out.

He looked up at me curiously. "Do you want to be fighting right now?" he asked.

"No. I mean, of course not. But that's kind of been our thing lately, hasn't it? I'm not saying I like fighting with you. I'm just surprised how... normal we're acting. Not fighting for once." I was rambling badly and I knew it. It was hard to put it into words though. I had no idea how to frame our relationship to begin with.

He gave me one of his half-smiles. It was rarely a full one. "I don't like fighting with you either. Though I guess it's a bit inevitable- in the meantime anyway." I frowned as he continued to wrap my wound. "I'm sorry for that by the way. Our meeting again after all these years- it shouldn't have been because of a murderer. I wanted to see you, but..." He hesitated. Those couple seconds made me burn with curiosity. But _what_? "I wasn't sure how you would receive it if _I _were the one to reach out first." His words struck a chord. My confusion and frown slipped away, replaced by understanding. That's right. I was remembering now. I felt stupid all over again, this time about mentioning what was wrong with _our _relationship. After all, I was the one to end things between us. "Selfish as it may be though, I'm glad to see you- circumstances aside. You look... good."

Somehow I got the sense 'good' wasn't the real adjective he was looking for. He was downplaying it. I couldn't help a small smile from creeping onto my lips at that. "Yeah, well. It doesn't entirely suck to see you either." I didn't have to tell him how good he looked. I'd made that pointedly clear before at the academy, enough to last a lifetime. I paused. "It's just your timing that sucks, comrade."

"Maybe it was perfect."

I met his gaze. Like back in the ER, there was hidden intensity behind his words. My stomach starting doing trampoline flips, but it wasn't out of fear like usual these days. His touch seemed to get warmer, more beckoning. And that was a very dangerous thing. It made me want his touch more. "Debatable," I finally said. There _was _a serial killer after me after all. For some reason, my body's reaction to him was freaking me out more than usual tonight. My pulse beat in my ears. What was with that? I don't know why I wanted him to put his actions into words, but I couldn't stop myself from asking, "What are you doing here anyway, playing EMT? I thought you might have had more important issues to deal with tonight."

He blinked, a little surprised, before it melted into a soft smile. Ugh. There went my acrobatic stomach again. "I told, didn't I? The last thing I want to see is you getting hurt. I'm here to protect you, which is most important. And," he continued, wrapping the burn, his caressing hands knowing every key of the movement, "even my self-restraint has a limit." He tied off the gauze.

For a second, I couldn't respond. It was one of the rare moments when I was caught speechless. Dimitri 1, Rose 0. However, I refused to let myself get worked up over that, despite the quickening of my heart rate. The double-meaning in his last words were blatantly obvious, but I couldn't think like he acknowledged it fully. For him to be effected by our rekindled romantic tension too and insidiously _provoking _that open flame? No. No way. Not Buddha-Dimitri.

I regained my composure and cleared my throat. "Camping out with Mia and Mase? Seems like a pretty crammed party," I tried to joke. "You, uh, really don't need to do all that. I'm fine on my own."

"I do need to," he said, like we were talking about whether to take in oxygen or not. I could have used some right then. "It's alright, I didn't plan to intrude on them. Scoping the perimeter for tonight and examining the case once more is fine."

I was startled. "So what, you're going to circle the block and sleep in the hallway?" I shook my head again in disbelief. That had probably been his exact plan. I leaned back. "Seriously, you don't have to push yourself that far. You can stay here tonight- I mean if you really want to pull the bodyguard thing. My sofa is always open for service."

And that is how Dimitri wound up spending the night at my place. We talked a little more about the case, mercifully drawing the line back to professional, but it was clear as the clock wound down, so did I. "You should get some sleep," he intervened as it crept close to midnight. I couldn't disagree. After telling him the basic layout of my apartment again in case he needed the bathroom, I slipped into my bedroom.

That nagging voice in the back of my head came back once I was alone, berating my IQ level by allowing Dimitri to hover so close. I knew I shouldn't be getting involved personally with him. It should have been unthinkable for me after what happened back at the academy. And yet, it was still there. The attraction. The allure. Danger had always drawn me in, and I found myself getting sucked in all over again. Even though I had made my resolve long ago, I found myself bending and convincing myself this wasn't crossing the line. It wasn't like I was setting up neon-flashing arrows to my bedroom screaming "Enter Here". He was just doing surveillance, playing cop and keeping me safe.

In my apartment. At night. A few strides away from my bed.

I sighed. Getting changed for bed in my standard attire, I thoughtlessly followed my nightly routine before turning off the light and falling into bed. The blankets were kicked to the side, my hair fanned out over my pillow as I stared, unfocused, up at the ceiling.

Laying exposed to the cold, still air, my heart continued racing with the thought of Dimitri lingering on the other side of the wall. _I need to calm down. _The bandaged hand resting on my thigh slide up until my fingertips pressed lightly over my heart. It was as if I could trace every unsettled heartbeat as it pulsed through. I was troubled, more than usual. Something had stirred. _I was the one that ended things between us. _That realization from earlier had unnerved me.

A faint echo of a memory passed, fleeting but tangible. The aroma of spring's perfume. A familiar hold. The metallic taste of acceptance on my tongue... of sacrifice.

I brought my bandaged fingers to my parted lips. I could taste that echo again, the bitterness heavy like lead. How much had I sacrificed that day? How much I had I put myself through to follow my idea of what was right?

And how could Dimitri, even after all these years, disarm me so easily? _You know exactly how, Rose,_ a small voice whispered in my head. My angel-kissed, white-laced fingers retracted from my lips. Yeah. What really sucked was I did. Following routine still, I shimmied out of my sweatpants and layered on the sheets, staring out my terrace window as I adjusted my position. My thoughts, the distant drone of traffic, and my own throbbing, slow-danced heartbeat drew me toward sleep. I closed my eyes. _...He's the only one who can._

**Excuse me as I throw out a filler chapter before I get to the main Rose and Dimitri moment. I'll update soon so I don't leave you guys hanging again.**


	12. Ivy Laced Graves and Memory Lane

Sleep was a funny thing. It could wash away one worry, only to replace it with another nightmare. And I had a lot of nightmare-worthy material to deal with these days. My less-than-ideal situation with Dimitri didn't exactly fit the category, but he wasn't the only guy trying to slip into my apartment at night.

I don't know what woke me first. Paranoid of having my throat slit in the middle of the night already kept me partially awake, only dozing off with the lapping of distant, droning traffic. But, breaking into a cold sweat and sitting up in a tangle of sheets, I knew: something was _not _right. Breath labored, I peered around my dark bedroom, brief flashes of headlights sweeping through and illuminating striking objects before the shadows settled in again. Although nothing looked amiss, the gnawing feeling in my gut begged to differ. I trusted it over my eyes any day.

Gray moonlight spilling in, I threw my legs over the side of my bed and grabbed my pistol from the nightstand, unlocking the safety. I crept over to the door. The chilled, wooden floorboards creaked under my bare feet and I could hear my heartbeat pounding against my eardrums. It was a wonder I heard anything.

I paused in the doorway, assessing. Sure enough, there was a faint whisper of noise outside, my heart jumping in my throat. My mind reeled. Was he here? Had he broken through Mason's security? How? When? I took a steadying breath. _Don't jump ahead of yourself, Rose. _My trembling fingers tightened around the base, making them still. I wasn't going to figure anything out simply standing there. And even if by some twisted nightmare Victor or the apprentice was in my apartment, I was pretty sure a handgun beat a scalpel in a rock-papers-scissors match.

So I pushed forward. Sharpening my senses, I swiftly turned into my main section, gun poised. There was nothing. Still not trusting the shadows, I kept my gun rigid, correcting my mistake from the past.

Entering the living room, I felt my breath catch. Dimitri. How could I have forgotten about Dimitri? Sprawled across the small sofa, it was unimaginable he fit. Somehow though, he made it seem comfortable (well, to some degree), his face tilted toward me. He'd fallen asleep at his post. I wasn't surprised; he'd probably pulled an all-nighter keeping watch at the hospital last night. Despite my haze of fear clouding my mind right then, I still found myself drawn to him, amazed at the gentleness of his demeanor while his defenses were down. Everything about him looked softer- his hair, his cheeks, his lips...

I couldn't wake him. Not when he looked like that. It was crazy, considering the fact that a mass murderer might be in my house _definitely _called for backup, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

It really was a wonder I hadn't gotten myself killed yet.

Ignoring that small voice in my head berating my stupidity (it seemed to be leading the fray lately), I focused on breathing again and tiptoed toward the couch, my eyes darting around. I checked the door twice, glancing out the peephole to find the Valley of the Dead in my apartment hallway. I took that as a good sign.

Then, as I made my way back, I heard it again. That faint rustling that stirred too loudly in the night. Instinctively, I crouched down, not even realizing I was in front of the coach again until I half-jumped from a minor heart attack, dark endless orbs staring back at me.

Dimitri had woken up. Damn it. I forgot he was a light sleeper.

He parted his lips to say something but I clamped a hand over them, my eyes begging for him to be quiet. I wasn't an ace in the field of facial expressions, but the situation itself kind of screamed don't-make-a-noise, so I was pretty sure he got the message. Besides, he was in FBI. They could sense danger better than bloodhounds. Me slamming a hand over his mouth was probably overkill.

Nonetheless, I couldn't help but put a finger to my lips for more emphasis as I released him, standing up and walking towards to the sound. Because I'd sharpened my hearing, I just barely heard Dimitri sitting up behind me, the leather-clad cushions shifting under the changing weight. I stayed in battle mood, not risking a glance over my shoulder.

I reached the west side of the room, gun aimed. The curtains shifted and my gaze turned hard. I sucked in a breath, muscles tense to the point the threatened to snap- and ripped the curtain back.

A cat in the alleyway below meowed, frightened, clanging against trash as it scurried off. The window was cracked just enough to let a light breeze waft through, ruffling the curtains. I exhaled, practically sagging in relief. I was on the fourth floor, too high to managebly climb, especially for a middle-aged guy like Victor. And yet... had I left the window open? I racked my brain trying to remember. That wasn't like me. If I hadn't then who...

Before I could think further, the smell of aftershave hit me. I spun around, thankfully not bracing my pistol still, to find Dimitri scrutinizing the window, then me. I don't think I'd ever seen him look concerned so many times in one night. Chest fluttering- from adrenaline, his earnest worry, or our bodies proximity, I couldn't say- I swallowed back the lump in my throat and joked half-heartedly, "False alarm, comrade. We won't be taking down any convicts on the run tonight."

He gave me one of his famous looks, the one that said I didn't have to hide my discomfort with humor. Having my life in danger was seriously beginning to kill my joke stash. "Are you okay?" he asked.

A loaded question. I sighed and nodded numbly, not sure how else to respond. He assessed me for a few moments more in suspended silence before deciding to accept my answer. Dimitri glanced back at the open window, in full battle mood. I looked to it, too, as he ran his fingers along the glossy, marmalade frame. It hadn't been forced open. Most likely I'd just been too preoccupied to close all the entry points in my apartment- my mother wasn't too far off in saying I needed a better security system. "What are you thinking?" I asked quietly after a few moments.

He didn't answer my question though. Not really, anyway. There was a pause before he replied, "I'll check around. Go get some rest, Rose."

I scoffed. Easier said than done. "Like I could sleep after this," I muttered, wrapping my arms around myself. I was really starting to feel the bite of winter. Dimitri checked the lock once more. Seemingly reassured we weren't going to get taken out by a guy flying through the window, he looked back at me again for a space of a breath before sealing and locking it shut. I quirked an eyebrow. "Finally barring it up for the night?"

Startling enough, a shadow of a smile flickered across his lips as he straightened. "Well, that. And I figured you were getting cold."

I frowned, confused, and glanced down at my outfit. If you could even call it that. It was on the brink of November, my bed smothered by blankets, and I'd tiresomely put on my normal attire to sleep in, once again forgetting Dimitri. Or, more accurately, I was too distracted by him to care what I wore to bed.

Which happened to only be a battered cotton tee and lace boy-shorts. Damn it all to hell.

I flushed slightly but did my best to hide it, hoping the arms crossed over my chest looked confident. "The cold's the least of my problems," I said flippantly, not knowing why I was still trying to brush everything off. Old habits die hard.

I could sense him smiling, but he said nothing. I glanced up. He locked gazes with me, a rare moment when he was fully grinning. Whoa. No idea what I'd done to deserve that. Just like before when warmth bubbled up inside me like champagne at the sight of his sleeping figure, he was staring at me with tenderness. Compassion. And... an emotion I couldn't quite place. "What?" I asked, uneasily. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

The air between us heated as he weighed his answer, time seeming to slow. I had no idea what he would say in return, but it didn't stop that heat from creeping over my skin, making me bubble with warmth. We were still standing together. Close. Way too close for me to keep my flippant composure. Neither of us backed away this time; in fact, if I wasn't mistaken, he stepped forward, ramping up the sexual tension even more. The part of me still trying to keep a grip wanted to scowl- he was making it a bitch to keep the self-control he'd continually nailed into me.

And I was losing it faster than I thought I would. My pulse was getting out of control again despite the logical side of me. I couldn't think straight, not with that intoxicating cologne and sheer intensity. '_Even my self-restraint has a limit.' _That's what he had said earlier. Well, that made two of us.

I wanted to kiss him. Badly. I'd wanted to since... well I couldn't remember when I _didn't _want to. A minority voice not mentally damaged by lust reminded me that would open a Pandora's Box I did _not _want to deal with right now. However, it was quickly getting drowned out by the voices screaming to crush the distance between us, especially when he brushed my hair back again (this time most definitely _not_ on accident).

That brief clarity was enough though.

I blinked, mentally slapping myself. What was I doing? I was supposed to be mad at him, just as I'd reminded myself back in the hospital. But always that realization lead to the same question: _why?_

For a second, I couldn't remember, baffled as we stood there. Then, out of nowhere, the memory slammed into me full-force. I realized my mistake too late. I'd kept that memory buried for a reason.

_The phone call was still freshly imprinted in my mind. _

_I don't think I could ever forget it, Lissa sobbing in hysterics, sirens wailing in the background, while my own tongue felt like lead, unable to comfort my best friend. I was numb to the core. It was as if ice had slithered over my joints, freezing it down to my bone marrow. "It's Avery..." Those were the first words she had said. Even as she recounted everything that had happened, those words still rung in my head. I could practically see it being chipped into ashen, gray stone, her name a marker for an ivy-laced grave. _

_It's Avery._

_A few hours after, that call continued to play center-stage. Even after sliding down to the floor and losing all sense of time, dozing in and out of consciousness, it was the only thing on my mind. Lissa's heartbroken cries rattled my conscious. Invisible ice remained on my skin, a permanent fixture. I was not accustomed to Death yet, to its chilling touch and eerie shadow; looking back, I guess that was the first time I made Death's acquaintance. It would lead to the first of many passings._

_Right then though, a scuffle forced me to focus back on reality._

_I glanced over, wary. Unsteady, I managed to get to my feet and walk over to the door. A note had been slipped under, into my dorm, folded but unaddressed. Seeing as my roommate was over seas for the semester though, I could guess who the recipient was supposed to be. I bent down and picked it up, opening it. I was immediately taken aback. The letters were cut out from a magazine, pasted and glued like a 90's serial killer. Boy. Just what every FBI in-training agent wants to see. I skimmed over it cautiously._

Rose Hathaway, you really don't have any restraint do you? I'll make you learn your lesson the hard way, then. Kick Dimitri out of your life (honestly, you're not good enough for him) or I can't guarantee how secret your relationship will stay- romantic or otherwise. Secrets, after all, are meant to be broken.

_The part of me that could still crack a joke wanted me to email the note to the writers of Pretty Little Liars as new material. The part of me that realized how serious this was? Well. That side of me was completely freaking out. My head spun, fingers crumpling the paper. Someone knew about my relationship with Dimitri. I'd always thought I was great at juggling danger, but this? This was a whole new level. Either I had to break it off with Dimitri or they would destroy everything, inside and outside of our relationship: those were the choices this person had left me with. If I hadn't been so afraid of facing those consequences, I probably would have been boiling with anger at the threat. But I was still trying (and failing) to cope with Avery's death. Pile on being forced to break up with the first guy I'd fallen hard for?_

_That added up to another adventurous, albeit memorable, Saturday in the life of Rose Hathaway. And a very emotionally trying one at that. _

_Numb as I was, I found my body could still obey my commands as I got up and walked briskly down the halls, the rest of the world a blurring kaleidoscope. In my hands, the letter burned. I wanted to ignore it, but that only left me with images of Avery. Neither one I wanted to think about. _

_Dimitri. Dimitri would know what to do, I told myself. He'd be able to put this to rest, soothe me and get to the bottom of this mess. Inwardly, I reflected on the night in the gym. It had only been two days ago, yet it felt like a lifetime had passed in our happy bubble. I never wanted that to end. But apparently, reality was a bitch with an attitude problem that had to leave anonymous threats at my doorstep instead. _

_The number to his door was like a beacon of safety. He always kept it unlocked. My fingers wrapped around the knob and slid it open, carpet hissing."Dimitri-" I started, wanting to do nothing more than to fall into his arms. However, it opened to an empty room. I looked around. "Dimitri?" I called again. No answer. He wasn't home. Confused (since he wasn't exactly a social butterfly), I walked through the teacher's dorms trying to find him. Mark, my combat theory teacher, ran into me and redirected me to a scarcely-populated hallway branching off from the living quarters. _

_I followed his directions as the mystery deepened, perking slightly when I heard Dimitri's voice up ahead around a corner. But all of that came crashing down when I heard what he was talking about. And with who. "I told you, I can't come home right now. The FBI has me stationed here." Dimitri said. I could detect slight exasperation in his tone, but it was parred by earnest amusement. That alone should have set off warning bells._

"_Oh come on Dimka, they'd drive you into the ground if they could," a female voice replied effortlessly. "It's just one week in Russia. Besides our families already threw together this arranged marriage, it wouldn't kill you to visit them." _

_Now, people always talked about things blindsiding you. But certain things were enough to knock you off your feet. We'd just gone from warning to bells to the SWAT team, Secret Service agents tackling the president, and Titanic sinking in 10 seconds flat. _

_Because bottom line, we'd just gotten into marriage territory. Holy hell. _

_Dimitri sighed. "I have things I have to do here."_

"_Your students won't miss you that long. You can say I kidnapped you."_

"_It's more than that it's-" Dimitri cut himself off. My feet had unconsciously carried me around the corner. I knew he didn't know long I'd been standing there, but apparently, it didn't matter. The topic spoke plainly for itself. For about two seconds as he met my gaze, it was just us in that room, the ceiling seemingly threatening to cave in. "Rose," he whispered. Then, reality came back again._

_The woman glanced between us before it seemed to click."Oh, are you one of Dimka's students?" she asked, her smile was innocently inquiring. I refocused on her, trying to keep a grip. She had a thick, raven-black mane and stunning blue eyes. And I had never seen her in my life. _

_I parted my lips to say something, but nothing came out. The world was spinning and I was left reeling. Already I was racked by Avery's death. Whatever was happening here made something inside me break and resolve at the same time._

'Are you one of his students?' _That question was a slap to the face. I realized it then. That was how the world treated us, how they would always treat us- not as a couple but as student and mentor. We couldn't be together. To Dimitri I was a child, his student. I couldn't compare to this nameless beauty. Just as the letter had taunted, he deserved better than me. And it was right. We weren't equals. _

_I felt my fingers unconsciously crumble the paper in my grasps, heat welling at my fingertips. My heart was pounding, my chest feeling hot and heavy as my ribs compressed the beating chamber like a weight. Everything felt personified. I don't know what I wanted to do at that moment. Break down, cry? Hit anyone that tried to touch me or reason with me? Yeah. All of those things sounded pretty good right then._

_Instead though, I found myself smiling wide at her, masking my emotions. "No," I said in regards to her question. "I'm just someone passing through."_

_I swept by them, not looking back. I never looked at him. I knew on the outside I must have looked confident, put together, just like always. The inside was a different story. I was falling apart. Graves, blue eyes, and death's smile plagued me. But I had to keep going. The branch let out to an empty part of the back academy. Vaguely, I heard him call to me, but I didn't stop. I didn't want to hear his voice. I just kept walking. _

_Avery was dead. My already rocky relationship with Dimitri was dying, too. And I was helpless to stop any of it. Searing coals burned in my chest, more tears threatening to leak out. My eyes were squeezed shut, the pain ripping through indescribable. I stopped under the shade of a deserted cherry blossom tree, hugging myself. I shook my head mutely, body racking with silent sobs as I broke, teeth barred against the river of tears etching down my face. I sank to the ground. _

_I don't know how much time passed. Eventually, Mark found me there, sobbing. He didn't ask what was wrong though. He simply sat with me like the dad I never had and let me stain his shoulder with tears, telling me that everything would be alright._

_But right then, with my heart on the line of shattering whole, I sincerely and highly doubted that. _

The heat between us fell as that chill from 5 years ago settled over me. This time the lump in my throat wasn't because he'd disarmed my witty comebacks. It was that sickening constriction I'd felt all those years ago. Dimitri had been my teacher for a year, and in those months I'd completely fallen for him. I knew I wasn't the only one. But love could only conquer so much. There would always be a barrier between us.

Memories continued to stir. _'Is this my fault?' _he had asked me the day I left the academy. That wasn't it though. I hadn't just ended things between because of him or Blue Eyes, the note, or Avery. None of it was his fault. All of it was mine. And even if it meant I had to play the bad guy and pretend to be mad at him now, even if it meant I was the one suffering at the end of the day, all I wanted was for him to be happy. Back then, I'd convinced myself that he could only do that without me.

Maybe I really was a masochist.

I lowered my eyes, lips falling away from his. "We should get some rest," I said quietly.

He recognized the change instantly. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn't look up. I couldn't. This time, he didn't force it. "...I suppose you're right," Dimitri answered after several seconds. He didn't protest as I continued to avert my gaze, vanishing back into my bedroom as if nothing had happened. I closed the door, back carving into the oak. My heart continued to drum in my chest. I could count each pulse. "What am I doing?" I whispered to myself. I was all over the place. I tipped my head back, begging myself to shut out that pain before it consumed me. For once, my body listened. I stood there for several minutes before I deemed it safe.

A hopeful part of me tried to rally me by suggesting that my confusing, near-kiss with Dimitri was only dream. Or, if not, that Victor would choose now to make an appearance and finish his endgame. It would cut out an awkward morning conversation over coffee. I sighed. I really did need to cut it off with jokes.

I started to head toward bed again when I walked past my closet, hesitating and eying it. Another memory flitted by. Then, reluctantly, I went over and opened it. Soon enough I was cross-legged on the floor and ransacking the mountain of clothes, digging further and further into the gaping mouth. This wasn't about changing my Sydney Sage wardrobe though, or even grabbing pants. I was looking for something. Something that Dimitri's inquiry had reminded me of. After several minutes, I managed to uncover it, dusting off forgotten fabric like lint. The top of the nostalgic cardboard box looked bleak in the moonlight and I pulled it out in front of my lap. It'd been the first time in a couple years since I'd last seen it.

Nothing had changed except for the name scrawled over white duck tape, labeling the box and its contents. Time had faded the the writing into a faint, gray scripture. It was still readable though. I stared at the two words for another heavy pause before lifting off the lid, trying to disregard it while the name still gloated in my face, shimmering under night's silver glow. _Avery Dragomir. _

I dug through the box. It wasn't like her ashes or anything were stowed inside, but evidence from the cold case were plentiful. Papers at the bottom consisted of pictures of Avery and the incident file. Even if it'd been years since the last time I read it, I knew every word from the sheet. I clawed up the papers, a familiar glint of white behind plastic shining in my face. I paused. Then, carefully, I took it out.

Why had I dropped out of the academy to hightail it back to New England? I stared at the gloss-white chess piece, the Queen blanketed with a layer of dried blood as if it were a rusted-red robe she'd slipped into.

Despite what Dimitri believed, it wasn't his fault. The whole situation with Blue Eyes hadn't helped things, but I wasn't petty enough to let my romantic life drive me out of my career. It certainly hadn't helped either though. It had just helped form my resolve.

Gaze heavy, dragging, I carefully put away the piece of evidence from the cold case that remained a stalemate. Insomnia once again setting in, I pulled in a pillow to my chest as if hugging the cold linen would help fill the crumbling void. In truth, all I wanted was to hold Dimitri and let him take the pain away. But like I'd convinced all those years ago, I wasn't a senseless kid anymore. It sucked, but I had to block out all those voices telling me to run to him. This was no time to dive into my past love life. Not when Victor was after me. Not when I still had things to deal with. Not when there was this many complications.

Like the past three days, Victor's face haunted my dreams. However, courtesy of Dimitri's intrigue and my own, stirring memories, my killer faded into away, thoroughly outvoted. There was a brief flash of white, like panning by the sun, before it settled into another familiar scene.

"_You're really leaving?" _

_I turned. I was outside of the academy, at a barren bus stop spotted by white-and-yellow daisies. It was early spring, the flowers freshly bloomed, their aroma hovering between Dimitri and I. A week had passed since the last day I saw him, the day I caught him in the hall. He had his hands in his duster. Mine were curled on the handle of my suitcase. _

_I avoided his gaze, eyes traveling back to the road as the wind stirred. "I have to. Something's come up back home." _

"_It's more than that."_

"_No. It's not."_

"_Rose. Look at me." Reluctantly, I did. "If this is about Tasha-"_

_My earlier upset twinged at the name of his probable fiance, cutting him off pointedly, "It's not. Seriously. Can we please not talk about this now?" If we were going to have a last moment together, then I'd be damned if I let it be small talk about his gorgeous bride-to-be and what they were going to name their kids. He obeyed my wish. Silence fell. I let out a breath along with some of my anger, my fingers tightening around my suitcase. "Why are you out here, Dimitri? Just to tell me that?" _

"_I came because you're leaving."_

"_I thought I wasn't any of your concern anymore."_

"_You will always be my concern, Roza."_

_That comforting moment was short-lived. The bus to Massachusetts glinted harshly up ahead as it lugged its way in across the buckling, dry pavement. My eyes were on it as it danced in the disorienting sun. "I don't need your concern or help," I replied quietly. "I was more than just your student, remember?"_

"_Rose-"_

"_It's alright, comrade, you can spare the zen lessons for today. I've already made up my mind. I know what I have to do." The bus hissed to a stop in front of us, door swinging open. Glimpsing at him, I wanted nothing more than to embrace him, maybe running together like Noah and Allie in a freak thunderstorm. That would be nice. Instead, I risked a simply brush on his cheek as I smiled, hiding whatever was really stirring inside me. Kept from him, the _nazar_ he had given me burned in my pocket."I'll see you around," I lied, hoping one day in the future it would be true._

_As I turned and boarded, a hand caught mine. I looked back, surprised, as Dimitri tried to stop my resolve. His heart reflected in his eyes. "Is this my fault?" he asked softly._

_I stared, lips parted. Once again, I got caught in our gravitational pull. For a moment, I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him about Avery, how I had to drop out of the FBI to follow what was right. I wanted to tell him about the note, that the reason I walked away that day wasn't because of Tasha but because of my own insecurity, because there would always be something stopping us from being together- no matter how many times we refused to play by the rules. I wanted to tell him that I loved him and that was the reason I was letting him go. I wanted to tell him all of this and more._

_But for once in my life, I wasn't just thinking about myself. This was for the best, even if it meant I had to endure some pain in the meantime. Everything comes with sacrifice. And that was a lesson I had to learn the hard way._

_If I told him any of that, he wouldn't let me go. And I wouldn't want to leave. The bus stalled, the scent of the field wafting by as the sunlight glinted off the shining metal of the bus. I closed my eyes. He wasn't the only one that could put everything on his shoulders. After all, I'd picked up a lot more than fighting techniques and zen lessons. You could live a lifetime in a year. And that's exactly what I had done. Now, it was time to move on- even if I didn't want to. I slipped my hand out of his hold. "Not everything is about us, Dimitri," I answered quietly, turning my back and boarding. I paid the driver and sat, the door hissing closed. I could only imagine what kind of face Dimitri wore the day I left. I never looked back._

**That was a sucky main moment and did not go according to plan. Sorry Rose missed out on the kiss and for the unpredicted delay, I changed this chapter at least 6 different times before I was happy. Extreme emotions are not easy to write. But now you get one mystery solved, and Tasha and (a dead) Avery introduced! **

**Thanks everyone though for still supporting this wacky story. Reviews/Favorites/Follows are always met with much love~ **


	13. Cross Examination

The next morning felt like a bad hangover. My memories of Dimitri, our near-kiss, and the Victor false-alarm were scattered. Subsequently, none of them were the reason I woke up. Like usual these days, my phone was ringing off the hook (having turned it back on, deeming it safe from my mom). It startled me awake. Fumbling to grab it from the side table, I blearily saw Mason's charming name along with the time. 5:45. Jesus Christ, the sun wasn't even out yet. What fresh hell was this? I blew hair out of my face as I hit the answer button, pressing it to my ear.

"What, Mase?" It took all of my willpower not to gripe the question, sitting up on my forearms.

Mason didn't acknowledge that I was upset though, pinning it on waking me. Days of undercover work had revealed my general policy on mornings- they were a bitch, so so was I . He must have thought this was more important than my beauty sleep.

He was right. "Rose, we might have gotten a break in the case."

"What?" I asked, still disoriented, getting up fully. Out in the foyer, I heard the scuffle of footsteps and the coffee brewer churning. Dimitri was still here. Light of remembrance started to shed on our close, late-night encounter, but Mase didn't give me much time to dive into the memory.

"There's been a sighting of Dashkov."

All thoughts of my romantic life dried up. I flashed back to the state I'd woken up in hours before, on edge and braced for the worst, ready to take on a killer. "Where? When?"

"Rosewood Psychiatric Hospital, 2 hours ago. The dispatcher just got through to me, same time as Alberta. Mia and I are on our way now."

"A mental asylum?" I asked in confusion. Seemed a little late to book that gig. It definitely didn't fit his M.O. anyway. "What would he be doing-" Then, it clicked. "Robert," I said in unison with my partner, swearing. Mentally, I beat myself up. Of course he was dropping by a mental asylum. That was his only way to get to his brother. Victor and Robert Dashkov used to brothers joined at the hip- you know, before Robert started going crazy and Victor started killing people. We hadn't counted Robert as a credible source in the case due to his hallucinogenic condition, but if his loving brother had decided to make things personal and stroll into a camera-covered hospital? Yeah, that put it back on the radar. And us on the move.

"Alright, I'll be there in 20." I hung up the phone before glancing back down. "Right, pants," I reminded myself, making a side-stop to grab appropriate apparel. By the time I'd managed to wiggle into slacks and grab my blazer, I saw Dimitri was at the door, his duster back on. I swear that thing was his surrogate child some days. "You got the memo?" I asked him.

He nodded. "Alberta just paged me."

I nodded back before looking longingly at the coffee pot, steaming and full. Reluctantly, I let it be. If worse came to worse, I could always swing by a Dunkin' Donuts.

We headed out in silent unison. I could feel the memory from last night stir, and sidelong, we met each others gaze. The bond between us still burned hot like always, but thankfully, it had simmered down. Neither of us talked about the near-kiss. It had been put on the back burner, Victor and my safety taking priority. I wouldn't be safe until we caught him. That's the thought I clung onto as I jumped in my car with Dimitri, still effected by him but able to keep my composure. We arrived quickly to the scene, with the help of bending speed limits, police lights flooding the outside ahead of the sun.

I hopped out the driver's side, barely shutting the door before jogging up to Mason lounging outside. Dimitri joined us almost in sync, but a call from Alberta pulled him away. He went off to the side, discussing in a hushed tone. I didn't spare him too many glances. Priorities, I reminded myself. "What do we have?" I asked.

He opened his mouth to answer, when something behind me caught his eye. He nodded to it. "See for yourself." I glanced over my shoulder. A coroner's van rolled in, some of Lissa's people hauling a black bag on top of a gurney.

I looked back at him, startled. "We have a body?" I whispered to Mason in stunned disbelief. Another death on his way to visit me. I passed a hand over my face, willing myself to keep professional. But everything about this case had become personal. "Who was he?" I managed to ask.

"James Melinda, security officer volunteering. Theory is, he was scoping the halls, saw Dashkov but got his throat slit before he could react. He bled out hours before the next guy even came in for his shift."

"A police officer?" There was a guilty catch in my throat as I voiced the question. Mason's blue eyes reflected similar pain at losing someone in our field. I made some profanity toward God, only to keep so much of my feelings bottled up. He killed a cop. Victor had always been confident, but this was a whole new level. Like I'd noted in jail before he broke out, genius hadn't been the only thing ramped up. The crazy had too. And speaking of crazy... "What about Robert?"

"We haven't dealt with him yet, figured you wanted to take first crack at it. All we know is he's dazed, first-responders woke him from outside, but let him be. They left the room untouched for us, too. Mia's checking it out now."

"Alright, let's head there." We began to walk to the scene while we hashed out information. It helped me keep focus. I didn't really want to look at the coroner's van anyway. "How long did he visit?"

"About 30 minutes."

"Do we have any surveillance videos, any cameras catch him on tape?"

"There was one outside in the hallway and where Victor made his entry point, but none inside Robert's room. We know for sure he was here for a solid half hour, but as for what happened inside? Well, only Robert can tell us that."

"Great," I mumbled. "A confession from a convicted lunatic, sounds promising." And that was just assuming that he would give a confession. From the way he idolized his older brother, Robert wasn't a likely person to cooperate. And since the person doing the interrogation was the same person that had thrown Victor in jail _and _been named as his next target? Yeah. Things weren't looking good for us.

When we got to the room, carefully stepping over dried blood pools, Mia had her back turned along with a local PD member she'd probably reigned in. They were the only ones in the room. Robert had been relocated to a therapy room until we completed the search. "Got anything, Mia?" I asked, walking in and rolling up my sleeves.

"Rose!" she exclaimed as she spun around, hiding something behind her back. Boy, if that didn't scream guilty. I guessed she didn't play much professional poker. "You shouldn't be in here, you should be interrogating Robert." She shot an unhappy look at Mason. Clearly he wasn't out of hot water yet.

"Yeah, well, we made a side stop. What's behind your back?"

Mia looked like she'd been pushed into a corner. A part of me wanted to make a move for it, but she was a scrapper. If I lunged for the item now, she'd probably gauge my eye out accidentally with her manicured nails. I knew the only reason she'd be shielding me for something though. She wanted to protect me. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. "Rose, you don't need to see this."

I met her gaze. Instead of answering her verbally, I simply held out my hand. I didn't want to be protected by withholding information. She sighed before reluctantly producing a small slip of paper. Splattered blood stood out sharply on the white edges, ink scrawled across in an elegant, familiar scripture. Another message from Victor. At least he'd spared the bouquet of roses this time around, I thought, as I took and scanned over it.

_I knew you weren't lying before when you said you dreamt about me, Rosemary. Not to worry, I'm not a fan of suspense. I'll bring you the most vivid nightmare possible very soon. Until then: sweet dreams. _

A chill crept over me, making my skin crawl as I tried to remain unfazed. This was more than just his typical teasing. "He's planning his endgame," I murmured. Mason's eyes were a blue fire when I met them, both of us understanding what that meant. I handed the evidence to PD to bag before walking back over to him. "Let's check out the brother."

As we twisted our way down the hall to the room, my phone went off again. Christ. My cell bill this month was going to be huge. I took it out partially from the pocket, glancing at the screen.

"Who is it?" Mase asked.

"Tech," I mumbled, taking it out and opening the text. Well, some good news had come out of this mess. They'd finally pinpointed the number that had tracked the GPS on Lissa's phone. I would be able to find who else was working on the case. I scanned over the message before suddenly dropping it, acting like the metal had scalded me.

"What's wrong?" Mason asked instantly.

"N-Nothing. Nothing." I'd teased Mia about screaming guilty, but I wasn't holding a great poker face today either. Hesitantly, I picked it back up, hoping I hadn't cracked the screen. Either Tech was wrong or I was losing my eye sight.

Cautiously, I reread the number, memorizing each digit. A familiar pang echoed in my gut. I knew the area code. Worse, I knew the _number_. I hesitated before I exited the message and scrolled through my contacts. A familiar name popped up. I highlighted it, her cell number showing with the expanded screen. "Son of a bitch," I swore. Ignoring Mason and the growing scene behind me, I jogged off, calling back, "Interview Robert without me, get me every detail he remembers." I didn't wait for his reply. I pushed out the double doors of the building, sunrise peaking over the skylights in an ashy hue. On my screen, her name still glowed.

_Sydney Sage._

It was an exact match.

* * *

><p>It was a wonder the door's hinges didn't break free as I banged incessantly on the wood, Sydney's hotel room number etched in black. "Come on, come on," I muttered, jiggling the locked doorknob for the hundredth time. "Answer, damn it." I banged again. Nothing. Frustrated, I considered kicking the door down all together and skipping friendly welcomes, claiming police business in compensation for the collateral damage. It was tempting. Really tempting. Before I got half the chance though, the manager arrived, grudgingly keying open the door when I flashed my police badge. She'd probably come up wanting to throw me out with armed escorts for wrecking havoc on her poor Comfort Inn.<p>

Not pressing for a warrant though, to my relief, she clicked open the lock. I entered the room at a fast and steady pace, my eyes darted around, fingertips brushing my pistol. Tan walls. A single queen bed. Frames of landscapes and random plants. It was exactly the kind of room you expected in the suburbs of Boston, but not one someone was staying in. The bed was made with ice-cold sheets, not a scrap of luggage or personal items in sight. She'd already packed up and moved out.

I swore under my breath and charged out the room, ignoring the manager's shouts behind me. They faded quickly with distance and I was left with my own, irate thoughts. _Sydney Sage, you are a dead woman with a lot to explain._

If I found her in the first place, that is. She'd vanished off the map, and was good at covering her tracks. Normally I wouldn't have given it a second thought. Lying low was second-nature to CIA agents, especially assassins and one's in high-intelligence positions. Sydney happened to be both (not that she'd ever admit the former). But I had no time to play hide-and-seek with a trained professional. She had played me with her "mysterious trip back to Boston", operating my case under the table. _And here she hadn't even wanted join the first crime scene._

All of this left me with zero answers. And there were a lot of irritating questions running through my head.

What was she doing interfering with my case? What was the connection? If Sydney was the one that got our location, why was Dimitri the one I tackled? Regardless of that, why was Sydney even _on _the case? She was CIA, Dimitri was FBI. I understood the FBI's connection (sort of) but the CIA had no ties to a domain killer like Dashkov, their jurisdiction laying overseas. What were they doing working with the government back home?

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. Oh, but I was going to get to the bottom of it.

I didn't know where Sydney was lurking, but I had a pretty good sense of Dimitri's whereabouts. If I could interrogate the guy trying to kill me without a problem, I figured I could wring out information from my mentor before lunch. Popping into my Chevrolet, I headed back to headquarters. Parking on the curb out front, I hoped my laid-back antics with traffic control would spare me the ticket. They tended to be more lenient when a pretty girl in law enforcement batted her eyelashes.

I slipped through security and jogged toward the elevators, half-waving to the Eddie guy from the cafe. Despite my temper, he seemed like a cool guy, and I didn't want my anger to carry over to anyone uninvolved. Leave it to me to start more rumors about me in the other PD departments. I'd still been dead-set on finding Dimitri when I caught Lissa also coming in from the side, looking at her watch, the ME opting for herbal tea again in compensation for the early hour. I'd have to give her my coffee and pound of sugar recipe sometime. "You're here early," I called. The detective in me didn't miss the slight jolt of surprise she gave when she heard my voice. Herbal tea didn't have half the caffeine needed to make her that jumpy.

She collected her jumpy nerves and joined me fully as I waited for the elevator. "So are you," she noted. "I wasn't expecting you to be in. Something happen?" Truthfully, I was still a little suspicious of her behavior, but then again, Lissa Dragomir was known for be more than punctual. She liked to make an impression, even if it meant coming in an hour early just to wash and organize her tools. Brushing it off, I gave her a basic recap of what happened with Robert, leaving out Victor's message. I didn't want to worry her any more than need be. Oh, and she was plenty worried without that detail.

It made me crack a smile. "Easy there tiger, I'm fine. Victor's still in the area, but he didn't slip through my door last night or anything." _Just my window possibly._

She looked unconvinced and on the fence about my safety. "Rose... are you sure you want to continue with this case?"

I was surprised. She'd never second-guessed my decisions before, trusting I could keep myself from getting killed. "You're asking me that this late in the game?"

"I know, I know, I should know better. A girl can dream, can't she?" She sighed and glanced at her watch again. "I have to get to the lab, don't cause too much chaos while I'm gone."

"No promises," I replied, sparing her another quizzical look before returning on my hunt for Dimitri. Unfortunately, as my luck would have it, he was good at vanishing when he wanted to as well. He and Sydney had probably sprung for a bat cave to divulge government secrets in private. Hell, if Sydney could remodel a car from airplane parts, she probably could whip up some Bruce-Wayne-worthy products.

Which was pretty sweet in retrospect, but sucked right then. I sighed and gave up after confirming with security he hadn't been through, retiring to my desk. By the time Mason and Mia returned, I had left Dimitri and Sydney at least a hundred threatening voice mails a piece, reminding her in one that she still owed me that $500 designer bag she had made me lose at the airport. The least she could do was take a call. Mason drew me back into the Robert drama before I could even begin my bitch raving on Dimitri. "Did you find anything out from him?" I asked, reluctantly setting my phone aside.

"Nothing useful," Mason answered, clearly exasperated. "Robert just kept babbling on about how great a brother Victor is and quoting a bunch of weird things. I think they let him watch to many movies cooped up in that place, he could probably quote Schwarzenegger better than the governor himself."

"What were the quotes?"

"Honestly, I didn't even know they _were_ quotes until the nurse pointed it out. She managed to write some down." He dug through his pocket before handing me another slip of parchment. Some of the quotes were so cliché and crime-show-worthy I wanted to roll my eyes. One of them definitely caught my interest though. There was no source attached, but the words stood out boldly by themselves.

_'It's not so important who starts the game, but who finishes it.'_

Now, I didn't linger on it just because it screamed Dashkov (which, yes, it certainly did). Something about it was strangely nostalgic, like it was a line straight out of a familiar book series or TV show. I frowned, tapping the piece of paper while glancing back up at the blue-and-yellow spotted map, marking Dashov's most recent victims. Connections. There were so many connections, and I couldn't fit the pieces together.

I spent the rest of the day mulling over that. My unit left me alone, working the media and following slim leads while I rummaged through files. After hours of shifting through lackluster paperwork, stationed at my desk as the Boston Police ran around in circles, Lissa made a reappearance, this time carrying coffee along with her herb water. My hero. There were at least four empty cups already dunked in my waste basket. "Oh thank goodness," I said gratefully, taking the new supply, "more caffeine."

"Careful, I don't want you getting addicted, it's unhealthy." I scoffed. Too little, too late. Lissa frowned, concerned, as she sat on the edge of my desk and I downed my drink. "Still not getting much sleep?"

"Would you?" I countered, words partially drowned as I drank the scalding liquid. I didn't mention Dimitri or Avery also contributing to my insomnia. We were around death enough without me reminding my best friend about her murdered sister. I set the cup down early into the burning spree, the gauze on my hand from last night reminding what happened when I didn't exercise caution. "What have you been doing all day? Looking at couture heels and sunhats?"

"It's scarf season, actually."

"Oh, silly me."

She smiled. "But no, sadly, no online shopping today. I was working. I was, uh, examining Melinda's body." She drummed her fingers nervously against her cup, making her flimsy alibi even more unconvincing.

"The security officer?" I asked doubtfully. "Why, he was killed just like the rest of Dashkov's victims, the unsub isn't exactly a mystery." She faltered. "Son of a bitch," I swore again, straightening. "You are the worst liar in the world."

"Rose," she said, voice laced with guilt and apology.

"What is going on, Liss, why are you lying to me? What have you been doing all day?"

"Look, I'm not... lying. I did have to examine a body, and it is related to this case, but-" She cut herself off, biting her lip. Just like Mia, she wanted to protect me in her own way. I'd be damned if I let her keep secrets from me too though. "But I can't tell you the details surrounding it. I've been ordered not to."

"You can't tell me?" I repeated in disbelief. "You can't tell me something related to my case? Wait a second, why are you on the need-to-know basis and I'm not- he is trying to kill _me."_

"Rose," she said sagely, trying to calm me by laying a hand over mine. Her green eyes glimmered in the light, clearly conflicted with her current position. "This is what's best, it's much safer that you not know. This case is much bigger and far more complicated than we originally thought." Her words echoed what someone else had told me. "It involves national security."

"Are you kidding me?"

She lowered her eyes and shook her head, leaning back. "I want to tell you, trust me."

"Great, fill me in. Screw your orders."

Lissa wasn't good at lying and she wasn't good under pressure. Often times it made her slip. Luckily for me, today was no exception. "Rose, you have to understand, Dimitri said-"

"Dimitri?" I exclaimed. "Dimitri was the one giving you orders behind my back?"

Son. Of. A. Bitch. I shot up without another word, ignoring Lissa as she called after me. He was dead. He and Sydney were both dead when I saw them. Bat cave or no, he had to show up at work sometime. Going downstairs and rattling the cage of the security guard again, I managed to get one decent confession today. He was definitely in the building. No one intervened as I stalked after him, honing in on my target.

Eventually, I spotted him.

Let's just say things were a slippery slope from there.

* * *

><p>I'd joked about homicide killing my love life before, but karma had really awful timing. Everyone made way as not-so-romantic flames crackled between Dimitri and I, the former leading me to some undisclosed location at my repeated request. Our bond still burned hot, yes, but it was replaced by a different kind of fire. This time I didn't have to pretend to be mad at him. I was <em>infuriated. <em>Whatever magic spark happened last night was forgotten by both parties in an instant.

"I'm sorry, am I being a little too loud for you, comrade?"

"Roza, you need to calm down, this is a sensitive case," he said evenly. Another zen lesson on self-control. He was one to preach.

"Don't give me that, this is my case," I shot back as he opened the door to a conference room, strolling in ahead of him. "I've had it up to here with your FBI need-to-know bullshit-" The heated words died on my lips as my gaze shifted from him to our company, coming to a halt. Three figures lingered in the room. Alberta and, shockingly, Sydney Sage herself lounged on the other side of the room. Standing closest to me was a woman I didn't recognize, dark-skinned with a tattoo similar to Sydney's glimmering on her cheek. She was the first to speak.

"I've heard bullshit before," she commented. "This doesn't qualify."

"Rose, this is Donna Stanton, chairman of the armed services committee," Dimitri introduced as we shook hands diplomatically. Admittedly, I was a little dazed. I didn't recognize her face, but the name hit home. She was a legend in the CIA- she also happened to be Sydney's mentor. "Stanton, detective Rose Hathaway."

"From the rumors, I was expecting you to charge in must sooner," Stanton said, hands on hips. She shared the same, seasoned look as Alberta, toughened from her years in service. Why she was associated with this case was beyond me. I had a good idea who the bridge was though.

"I didn't get the party invitation," I replied, eyes shifting to Sydney. She hadn't spoken a word since I arrived, while questions still burned on my tongue. A hell of a lot more than usual. I was used to guys like Stan playing me, but Sydney and I had been friends since college. She was the last person I expected to pull a fast-one on me. We held gazes as I searched her impassive, steel-resolved face. "You aren't in town by coincidence," I said, testing the words on my lips. There was no question in that statement. Her molten, caramel gaze didn't move. I shook my head, an empty smile on my lips as I ran a hand through my hair. "I can't believe this."

Lounging back with arms and legs crossed, she asked placidly, "Did you really think that your FBI agent was a coincidence, too?"

I froze. Clicking together what she was saying, I looked over my shoulder back to Dimitri, bewildered. Everyone but me had their game face on, including- no, _especially_- him. I stared at him, the distance between us seeming to grow, a gaping berth between us. He was hiding something from me. They all were.

I was in a room of strangers.

"You should sit, Rose," Alberta finally said. It was clear she'd wanted to avoid this as much as the rest of them. "There's a lot we have to fill you in on."

Yes, I thought. There certainly was.

**I feel like the last chapter derailed the story a bit, but not to worry, we're back on track. Picking up the pace to head to the climax, get ready! And yes, for those asking, Adrian and Christian will make a cameo soon. Let's face it a VA story wouldn't be complete without them. **

**Reviews/Favorites/Follows light up my day.**


	14. Revelations

"What exactly did Boston PD do to reign in the CIA?" I inquired.

"Trust me," Stanton replied, resting on the corner of the table. "This was their work, not yours, that pulled our interests together." Again, she lead the initiative. The rest remained quiet, solemn, under her lead. Somehow, that bugged me. I didn't like answering to superiors, especially ones that muted others, and it was clear she was the one in full control. She wasn't the only one with a spine though. From the rumors she'd supposedly heard, I guess she knew the wild fire she'd welcomed by inviting in Rose Hathaway.

I wasn't one to disappoint.

I shot my allies (if I could still call them that) a look before accepting Alberta's earlier invitation, sitting. I barely had time to straighten before a vanilla folder, stamped with the FBI seal, slid in front of me, papers teeming out the sides. I glanced up at her questioningly. "What is this?"

"Your case, detective."

I gave her a doubtful look before opening the folder, immediately taken aback. I sat up ramrod straight as my lips parted in shock. Laying on top of the unruly pile was a photograph of a soldier in uniform, throat slit and limbs bound, splayed on a chair. It mirrored our current victims. _The apprentice's handiwork_, a voice in my head whispered. "I don't understand," I said slowly, staring at the soldier, "this case wasn't reported. Where was this taken?"

"Afghanistan," Sydney said quietly. I looked up at her, startled. How was that possible? As the cogs in my head began to stir, fueled by this knowledge, I flipped through more images, more urgently. This was the connection I had been missing. It was one thing to run rampant in a US city. It was something else entirely to target a war zone. There were at least 6 victims in the folder alone, all soldiers in uniform.

"It looks like Dashkov's work," I said, stating the obvious.

"A war zone is a serial killer's paradise," Dimitri said gravely.

The puzzle pieces continued to fit together. My fingers stilled. I looked up, meeting Sydney's glazed, honey-colored hues. "Our apprentice is a soldier?" I whispered in disbelief. A soldier. One of our own. I wanted to say it was impossible, unthinkable. But I knew the reality. At this point, anything was possible.

Sydney was still playing cold and apathetic, but I could see empathy stirring behind the mask as I struggled to deal with this revelation. No one wanted to believe a soldier could slaughter like this in cold blood. Her gaze flickered to Stanton, asking silently for permission to divulge the case they had bottled up so long. She got the go-ahead. "When the CIA first started to investigate these killings overseas, we wrote them off as war crimes. I was the only one working the case that had Dashkov's signature imprinted in my mind. That was only because I was lucky enough to have a connection to Dashkov."

"A connection?"

"Yes," Sydney said simply. "You."

I stared. "Me? You used me to get leverage, information?" Again, she didn't reply, letting the silence do it for her. My earlier upset twinged. "So, what, you withheld crucial information from my unit so you could play your game and watch the dumb Boston police run around in circles?"

"You can blame me for that," Stanton cut in. "This is a sensitive investigation, I could inform the FBI and your superiors, but directly involving Dashkov's target, or that target's unit, would have been a liability."

I was about to make a snappy comment about her calling me a liability, but Dimitri, probably for the greater good, jumped in before I could start anything. "We believe the apprentice recently finished his tours and came back to Boston to find Dashkov." I shot a glare in his direction. I knew he was just trying to distract me with information, but it still managed to work. That alone kind of pissed me off. However, a rational part of my brain told me I didn't have time to be angry.

"He wanted them to kill together," I muttered, bottling my irritation and putting it off to the side, reminding myself of my priorities. I couldn't be seeing red and blinding myself to the fact we were all on the same side. We all wanted to see them put away. And, grudgingly, I could understand why Stanton didn't want me springing into action. I _was _known for being a loose cannon.

Refocusing on the case and returning to the folder, I scanned over the victims in uniform. It was hard to imagine one of their own turning on them, a brother by bond instead of blood. That's when it dawned on me. "Wait no," I said suddenly, sitting up on my forearms. I shuffled through the photos. "If our apprentice was a soldier, we would have gotten a hit on his DNA in the military database. We didn't get a hit." I glanced up at Dimitri, but it was Sydney that had shifted in my peripheral.

There was another moment of silent communication between Sydney and Stanton before the former spoke again. "Rose, have you ever heard of sheep dipping?" The only reply she got from me was a blank stare- mostly because the only image that came to mind was a baby lamb swimming in fondue. Sydney sighed, seeing the answer written on my face, explaining, "It's where the CIA borrows a soldier for a black ops mission. Green berets were chosen and their identities were wiped from all databases. We couldn't risk them being recognized as American military."

"So you believe... our apprentice is a green beret working for the CIA?"

"Yes," Stanton confirmed.

Well, damn. That certainly changed the playing field. I ran a hand through my hair again, pushing back the folder in sync with my chair as I stood. The idea was overwhelming. Hell, the images sitting in front of me where overwhelming. There was another void smile on my lips as I said, "So we train our best men to be killers and we're surprised when they are."

"Rose," Alberta said, her tone about as gratifying and soothing as she could be, "we hate that he's a soldier. You know we're doing everything we can to get to the bottom of this." She continued to speak, but I didn't listen after that, the rest of her words drifted off as I clung onto the one, reflecting inward. _A soldier. _It clicked. It just _clicked._ The connection I had been missing all this time.

"No," I said quietly, breaking Alberta off, eyes distant. "That's it. That's the connection." I looked up, becoming aware of my surroundings again. "You all wouldn't know it because it wasn't in the file. Dashkov used an assumed name when he was younger to get into a combat medic training program at Fort Stuart. That has to be where they met. That's the connection, that's where he found his apprentice!"

This time, Stanton shared a look with Dimitri, a glint in her dark eyes. "It's a worth a shot," she admitted, Dimitri already mobile.

The gears in my head kept spinning, revelations tumbling out before I could think twice. "Cross-reference Dashkov's records, we'll nail both these bastards at once." Dimitri nodded nimbly, setting to work.

Stanton's growing smile was surprised, but approving. "I'll be damned, detective. Nice work. You should have charged in much sooner." I smiled back, excitement welling at my fingertips. It was enough to banish my earlier anger. Because, bottom line, we'd done it. It didn't matter how. We'd caught them. Stanton's attention flitted to her student. "Sage, follow Belikov, get the lead. Rose." She paused. "Rest easy. We'll take it from here."

Naturally, I began to protest. One look at Alberta stopped me though. After years of seeing the job, she wasn't one for sugarcoating the truth, and man, did her look speak legends. She knew I wanted to jump on the wagon with Sydney and Dimitri, but this wasn't a normal case. She was telling me to hold back. I was the one they were after and just showing up would probably give Dashkov some creepy satisfaction. So, reluctantly, I backed down.

A phone call did a long way in distracting me as well. The Joker's laugh, emitting from my jacket pocket, cackled through the conference room, earning curious looks from my colleagues and an exasperated one from me. _Lissa_. I excused myself, ducking out into the hallway, drifting toward my unit. I hadn't realized how much time had passed. Navy blue glimmered behind the windows, night spilling over Mason's shadowed desk in the corner. "What's up, Liss?" I asked, tucking the phone in the crook of my shoulder to slip on my jacket.

"Rose," she sighed. "Rose, I'm in your apartment." Her voice on the opposite end of the line, normally delicate, was strained, faint crunches of glass under foot coming through as well.

"Why are you in _my_ apartment?" I asked, momentarily confused, wondering if she'd knocked a wine glass over and that was what I'd heard. Did I even own wine glasses? If it was anything alcohol-related it would be beer or my stolen ("borrowed") stash of liquor from Jill.

However, I realized quickly it wasn't a broken cup she was stepping on. It was shattered glass. "They- they've been here, Rose," Lissa said, the distant hum of PD coming through the static as she walked across the floor. "Dashkov and his apprentice were here."

For a moment, I didn't say anything. I couldn't. My gut wrenched sickeningly, my throat drying up along with my witty one-liners. So. A 40-year old _could_ still manage a climb up 4 stories- if propelled by the right motivation, that is. For Dashkov and his apprentice, that was killing me. And they'd been in my apartment ready to jump at the chance.

I started to say something when something from across my department caught my eye. I searched it hastily as, gradually, the final pieces clicked together. I should have seen it sooner. The yellow and blue pins gloated in my face. '_It's not so important who starts the game, but who finishes it'. _

"Oh God," I breathed, striding over to the map. My eyes darted around at the brown-and-green landscape before picking up a red peg and poking it through the paper, the dot pushed out further than the others, laughing at me. I stared. It was right in front of me the whole time. The pins marking the two victim's homes, including my new addition, made a perfect triangle, a perfect pattern. The red pin?

That was pinned on my apartment building.

The line that Robert had kept repeating? That was from the prologue of my favorite book, the only worn paperback lying on my bookshelf. This wasn't the first time they had been in my house. They had already invaded it. "Alright," I finally managed to say to Lissa, not voicing the growing pit in my stomach, walking out. "I'll be right there."

I didn't waste any time. Forgetting all about crazy operations and government divisions, I flew out of headquarters and across town, pushing my car to its limits. My mom used to tell me to always go 5 miles above the speed limit. Tonight I was pushing 20 plus. Fear can drive you to pull insane stunts. The imagined scenarios my mind was brewing in the background didn't help things; but given the circumstances, speeding was a pretty sane outlet.

They'd been in my apartment. My last sense of security was stripped away with that knowledge, leaving me battered and raw. It was one thing to send me flowers or haunt my dreams. Those were empty gestures, taunting tests. This, breaking into my house, was a physical act. Victor had grown serious.

The building was like a lighthouse in the middle of the city, lights flooding the block. My tires squealed as I stopped in a swerve in front of my house, police tape barring off the front of the street. My phone rang again. It was Dimitri this time. I answered, both of us skipping welcomes. "Rose, you were right," he said. Footsteps echoed on his side. "Sydney's tracking down another lead, but we got the records from Fort Stuart. Our apprentice is Special Forces Officer Keith Darnell, 29. He did 2 tours in Afghanistan as a part of a direct action force."

I had been digging through my car searching for my badge, accidentally turning up my _nazar_ and _chotki _in the process, before freezing, looking up. "What unit was he assigned to?"

"618, Medical Care Specialists."

"Oh my God," I said, popping out of the car. "That's Dashkov's unit."

"Darnell lives at 412 Chestnut Hill Square, I'm going with the SWAT team now."

I glanced at my swarmed apartment, hesitating. "Yeah, okay, I'll get over there as soon as I can." I hung up, beginning to jog to the scene when a voice pulled me back.

"Detective Hathaway," a man called from behind, making me stop and turn around. It was a medical examiner, clipboard, uniform, and all, walking from the unit van. I didn't think much of him. He was lean, albeit tall, the brim of his hat partially covering dark hair and blue eyes. It might have just been the light, but his one eye looked strange, almost... glassy.

"Yeah?" I asked, angling back, wondering what Lissa's medical team was doing hanging around my apartment with PD. Maybe they really had all come over to throw a unit bonfire. My house _was_ a hotspot to be at these days.

I could tell though he wasn't the pass-a-Miller's-Lite-around-the-fire kind of guy. He jabbed a gloved thumb over his shoulder with his free hand as he turned back and walked toward the van. I glimpsed back before following expectantly, the examiner ruffling through paperwork. "Dr. Dragomir asked if you'd ID the body before you go inside," he explained. While his stride remained steady, mine faltered.

I felt my lips part in shock, my eyes flickering in the dim halo of the lamppost. "Body? What body?"

He glanced over his shoulder, looking perplexed. "Sorry, I thought you knew. Dr. Dragomir said it was your neighbor, young female, early 20's."

My blood ran cold, freezing my step again for a moment. A face, sweet and innocent, flashed through my mind's eye, piercing green eyes and curly hair completing the package. No. No, it couldn't be. "Jill?" I whispered, my voice strangled as I picked up my pace, hand half on my belt. "Oh god, no. Please, no." Not Jill. Jill couldn't be dead. _I _was the one he was after. If Jill was the one lying inside a medical bag...

The wave of nausea hit me full force. I couldn't bear the idea of it.

He led me to the van, parked about five cars down from my own, and opened the back door. Apprehension driving me on, I hoisted myself up into the back, silently praying to whatever deity that would still listen that Jill was alive. That plea intensified as I saw the body bag laying peacefully on the harsh, cool metal. "Please, God, no," I mumbled, unzipping the bag.

I expected to see Jill dead, marked as one of Dashkov's victims. Hell, maybe even Marissa, a much less friendly college student from two stories down.

What I didn't expect was Victor himself popping out like a jack-in-the-box.

"Hello, Rose." I barely caught his voice or his haughty, smiling face before he tasered me in the stomach, the painful shock coursing through my body like a bolt of lightning. "How lovely to see you again."

I didn't have time to respond, or be surprised, my nerves shutting down under the shock. Words died on my lips. My vision swam in front of my eyes as I felt my body give way, knees buckling under me. The medical examiner from before caught my limp, almost lifeless body, and I remotely felt something sharp go into my neck. A needle, I realized through the clouding haze. He was injecting me with anesthesia while I was rendered paralyzed.

I should have been prepared for it. It was a classic Dashkov trick. I should have been. But I wasn't. I'd acted impulsively again, jumping into a dark, windowless van.

_Way to go, Rose. _Some things never changed.

At least I'd saved Dimitri and Sydney the trouble of finding Dashkov's apprentice. The price, though- well, it would cost me big time.

Because it looked like Victor was going to get exactly what he wanted. He was going to finish the game we started- and he was going to win. "Lay her down," I heard him instruct to his apprentice.

Through my partially-veiled, blurred vision, his face swam by, darkness ebbing around the edges and closing in fast. I don't exactly remember what my last thoughts were. They could have been with Dimitri, my former mentor and partner racing to find my killer's right hand man as he broke all the traffic laws going down I94, a God-like warrior in the making. They could have been with Lissa, my best friend tiptoeing around broken glass as she vainly and anxiously waited for me to arrive, a presence that would remain void. They could have been with Sydney, my CIA informant barking into her blue tooth as she went to hunt down her last lead, a skilled assassin at her finest. They could have been with Mason or Mia or Mark, even my mother. And I hope they were.

But the last thing I really remember was accepting my death by Victor's hand- if it truly came to that- before my eyes rolled back into my head. Then, like a switch, everything went black.


	15. The Surgeon

_"'Just'?" I scoffed, hands molding under a metal chair as Dimitri wrapped my sprained ankle, trying to ignore the growing warmth at our proximity. Night glimmered behind the high windows of the gym, the shadows chased away by the fluorescent lights engulfing us. I watched my 22-year old self from afar, a ghost lingering in dusted corner, unsure why I was reliving this night now. _

_Why, out of everything, this was my most vivid memory._

_Why it was like I was watching my life flash before my eyes. _

"_You're only saying that because you're not the one that has to deal with it," I continued to accuse._

_"Perhaps," Dimitri said lightly, unwavering from his task, "but at least you'll live. Compared to some of your other injuries, this should be nothing."_

* * *

><p>It took awhile for reality to filter through my drug-addled, sleep-induced dreams. I don't know how much time had passed. In fact, I didn't really know anything at all.<p>

Drugs were a bitch like that.

It was still dark. Pitch-black, even. But instead of drowning in that black, numbing sea, I found the ebony morph into familiar velvet as I came around, the dark settling behind my eyelids. Lulling toward consciousness, I shifted, my head throbbing at the motion. I muffled a groan. It felt like I'd been hit by a truck. My thoughts and memories were blurred, a whirlwind of flickering film escaping my grasps. Christ. Maybe I _had _been hit by a 16-wheeler. Slowly, hesitantly, I felt my senses expand as well.

Mutely, I could hear the chirps of crickets through steel walls and smell the fresh dripping of gasoline. Cold air chilled my skin and blood as I breathed through my nose, my lips somehow sealed shut. My hands and legs were in a similar position, joined together at my knees and wrists, immobilized. Boy. If that didn't scream ominous. Where _was_ I?

I opened my eyes partially and blinked. My bleary-eyed gaze was tilted, but I could see the makings of a van's trunk come into focus. I frowned behind the sealment. What, did I decide to take a nap in Lissa's Mystery Van? Drowsily, my dark eyes flitted around. There was a spare tire stuffed to the side, metal-shudder compartments grooved along the walls, some empty medical shelves...

And there was a shadow.

For some reason, that was all it took. Everything hit me. The break-in, the Jill scare, the kidnapping- Victor. My own personal nightmare wrapped up in a neat little bow, waiting for me when I woke up. My heartbeat pulsated, echoing my terror.

Yeah. I knew exactly who that shadow belonged to. And I knew I had to get out of here.

Struggling to sit up in my compromised state (and failing), it didn't take long for him to humorously inquire, "Looking for this?" I glanced up, able to crane my neck, eyes landing on him. I stilled. My muscles locked, veins straining against my neck in panic. Victor was sitting elegantly along the wall, at my knees, one hand holding a scalpel and the other waving my gun tauntingly. My growingly frantic eyes darted to it. He chuckled. "Come now, Rose. You really have become too dependent on your weapon, don't you think?"

I took it as a rhetorical question, seeing as my lips being taped shut made it a little tough to hold a conversation. So taking the classy route, I simply opted to glare at him while struggling against my duck tape restrains, knowing my fear was pouring out, outweighing my hatred for him. It was a little hard to act tough when you were tied up with the guy hell-bent on killing you. A girl could try.

Victor sighed as his jade eyes glazed over, exasperated at my weak attempts. "You shouldn't struggle, Rosemarie." As if to soothe me, he came over and slipped the hand holding the scalpel behind my cheek. Yeah. That was real comforting. I shrank away from his touch like a wild, trapped animal, praying he didn't hear my heartbeat pound in double tempo. It was hard to miss my rampant distress though, especially with the cold metal of the blade hovering over my pulse point. That alone made me stop moving. Victor paused another moment before sliding his hand forward again, his fingertips sparking chills along my skin. Then, he ripped the duck tape of my mouth, forcing me to stifle a pain-invoked shout. "It's alright, Rose, you can yell," he told me placidly. "No one will hear you either way."

I chose not to acknowledge that as I glimpsed toward the semi-closed doors, heart drumming in my chest. The dark forest glared with shadows. "Where's your little friend?" I whispered, voice parched.

"Ah, yes, you did meet Keith, didn't you? He's getting ready for our final game outside," Victor explained. A sense of dread welled in my chest at that. Between the two of them, I could only imagine what they were planning. A shallow grave in a bed of sunken leaves seemed plausible. He twirled the scalpel in his hand like a pen, smiling. "We can finally finish what we started all those years ago, Rose..."

His eyes fogged again, rapt in his own creepy elation. Man. I probably would have been better off drugged and knocked out. I attempted to distance myself more as he moved closer- hell, I would have jumped out the back doors with the van going 80 mph if it meant getting away. This time, the blade was poised. "Wait, don't-" I tried to reason desperately as I recoiled, moving my head away. That, however, only served to expose my neck more. It was a clear opening. He drug the blade across like a surgeon, breaking the skin. I squeezed my eyes shut. Blood pooled and oozed over as he began to slice my throat, my body crawling with terror, adrenaline beginning to convulse under the alarm.

I gasped in terror just as the opening of the doors stopped him from cutting deeper, his hand stilling. "It's ready," I heard Keith tell him. "Come take a look." The blade's touch continued to sink in like a poison even as Victor withdrew it. Gasp subsiding into shallow breaths, I dared to open my eyes. My would-be killer smiled wide at me before turning and hopping out with both weapons, handing my pistol to his associate. I glanced at the other dark-haired male. Keith sneered in return, his one good eye glimmering cynically in the moonlight. I knew how I must have looked. Pathetic. Weak. Blood leaked from my wound and stained my bare skin, the fabric of my clothes lapping up the thick liquid. Keith tucked my gun into the front of his jeans and slammed the doors shut, locking it. The two's fading laughter echoed after them as they walked off.

The loud slam rang in the empty silence as I lay there. Adrenaline welled at my fingertips, blood continuing to drip from the incision. Like Mason, my main arteries had been spared. This was just the opening act though. An opening ceremony to the grand finale, the last game.

Oh God. This was bad. _Really _bad. Managing to sit up fully, I remembered how I promised myself I wouldn't let him toy with me again as I fought the duck tape. I wouldn't _let_ him?

Yeah. It was easy to say that and comfort myself with it while he was locked in maximum security. Barred in his van, in an empty, horror movie forest, with him and his apprentice? That changed things. Big time. I scowled at my own foolishness, wanting to hit something. Preferably a mirror.

However, a reasonable voice (that sounded suspiciously like Dimitri) reminded me I didn't have the time or luxury to be mad at myself. I was already here. And laying in his trap, wasting time to mentally beat myself up, wouldn't help my odds. After a steady minute of wrestling and biting at my duck tape, I realized I'd just have to work with it. It was a bitch, but it was workable. I looked around at the shadow-bathed compartments, lost with no way out.

I wanted to slam my head against the metal wall. I had no idea where to start. It didn't help the drugs were taking a toll on my mind's clarity, too._ Crap. What would Dimitri do in this situation?_ I thought. The answer hit me almost instantly. Duh. He'd _taught _me this first-hand.

_'Use your environment to your advantage'._

Scooting over to the shudders, I used my joined hands to lift one up, revealing an empty, metal box. Okay. That was no help. I lifted the others one by one, winding up with the same results. The last one on the end was locked, annoying me and making me jiggle the shudders for a couple minutes. The pressure of time weighed heavily on my mind and I grew more urgent as it dragged on. I soon gave up opening it. Keith probably had the key stuffed in his jeans alongside the van's lock.

I checked the empty shelves, rummaging along the walls and under the medical table. The spare tire was void, the van's bare walls glinting harshly. There was nothing. It was like a bad deserted island game. They'd given me nothing to work as a leverage; I couldn't even make a signal fire with twigs and flint.

I gritted my teeth, frustrated. "Come on," I muttered, shifting through more desperately, "come _on_!" I slammed my fists down on the spare tire. Surprisingly though, it didn't hurt. Not in the least. Instead of breaking something on the hard case, my hands hit something soft. I looked up at the clumped, dark mass sitting on the black tire. _Velvet? _I drug it down, a rolled up cloth clattering to the ground. I glanced toward the doors before struggling to unravel it, the black tool holder tumbling open. I scanned over its contents quickly, hope soaring at my good fortune. It was a standard survival kit. Surviving sounded pretty damn good right then. There was a flashlight, a pair of scissors … and a flare.

The plan formed in my head so quickly I had no time to rethink it. I just acted.

"Oh Ro-ose," Victor's sudden, sing-song voice drifted from the other side, growing closer. Scrambling, I pried out the flare and attempted to roll up the cloth, laying on top of it with the cold cylinder in my hands. Oh, it was about to get warm though. Fast. The back doors popped open and I heard him hoist himself up, the high-pitched frequency of a charged taser beeping in the silence. "Did you miss me?" he asked. I forced the cap off the flare with my teeth. My dark hair acted as a curtain as the orange flame flared to life, scorching my neck and burning my cheek. Smoke poured out around my laying figure, his footsteps stilling. He leaned closer. "What on Earth-"

My adrenaline kicked in again. From that point on, there was no thinking. Just acting and reacting. Fast as lightning, I shot the flare out at him, knocking and searing the right half of his face. Like paper, his skin kindled instantly. Fire chewed at him as he stumbled back out of the van, falling to the ground back-first. He rolled around, gripping his face and howling in pain, the flare glowing in the van. Still compromised my restraints, I wiggled and rolled out, falling into the dust near his writhing figure.

The taser had fallen in front of me. Consumed with primal instinct, I reached for it, struggling to get closer and sparking it to life as well. Victor, contorted and thrashing, never knew what hit him. The taser flashed with electric jolts. I tasered him in his lower leg, amplifying his loud shouts and agonized jerking. I gritted my teeth, using every ounce of juice on him. It took a few steady seconds for it to flicker out, the sparks ending in sync with the new, approaching voice as Victor laid there, blistering. "Dr. Dashkov?" Keith called from the forest.

I wildly darted my eyes over my shoulder as I clicked the taser, willing it to recharge. "Come on, come on," I whispered, panicked. "Charge, charge."

"Dr. Dashkov?" he asked again, appearing along the treeline and in our line of vision. It didn't take long for him to pin his teacher's lying, twitching figure. "Dr. Dashkov!" He raced through the underbrush. Bundling in on myself to hide the sparks, I clicked the taser desperately as he skidded in front of Victor, kneeling to him, checking his pulse. "Dr. Dashkov..."

The taser's wail stirred up again. Moving fast, I shocked Keith in the leg like his mentor, Keith grunting in pain and stumbling a few steps before joining the party on the ground. I really had a thing for hitting below the belt. The gun lodged _in _his belt, however, clattered out in between us during his stumble. We both looked at it, then to each other.

As one, we raced for the gun. Keith's good eye was wild with determination and anger as he crawled his way, in a military fashion, through the ashen dirt. His paralyzed legs dragged behind him. Crippled by my own impairment, I moved closer, duck tape scrapping up the black soil. Able to use both my arms and legs though gave me the greater edge. That was my only leverage between life and death. His hands were barely an inch away when I grappled around the familiar handle. Our eyes met for a split second again right before I fired.

Two shots went off into the night, bird screeching and flying off. The sharp impacts sent Keith jolting and sprawling on his back, head tilted away from me, arms slumped into the dirt. The two holes in his chest rimmed with blood. I didn't have to check his pulse for confirmation. I knew.

Victor's apprentice was dead.

Still, I surged with adrenaline, shifting into a sitting position and panting hard, aiming the gun between the two men threateningly. Neither moved. Victor's shallow breaths were drowned out by my gasps, chest heaving with my frenzied heartbeat. Leaves were tangled in my snarled hair, dirt caking my cheeks and burns. The dust and deadly silence settled around us. Still, I aimed my gun, braced to shoot my predators a hundred times if that's what it took. "Come on," I whispered, fear churning to my breakage point and shouting, unlocking the safety, "Come on! Come _on_! _Move_!"

They were desperate cries, prying and trying to give a reason for me to fire. But neither moved. Neither were a threat any longer.

It took awhile for that common sense to shine through my clouded, torrent thoughts. Slowly, hesitantly, I lowered my gun. I glimpsed at Victor and his dead associate one more time before looking around, struggling to see through my red-tinted vision. It was like a black coil of darkness had exploded, blinding me, blinding my actions and thoughts. That Dimitri voice lingered behind the shadows, trying to get me to see reason. I had to pull it together. I had to think. I hadn't fully escaped yet.

That's when I spotted his scalpel among the pebbles, my blood cleaned off the blade. Setting aside the gun and shoving away that dark, lurking knot, I moved over to it and begun to cut through my duck tape. It wasn't an ideal cutting instrument, but it got the job done. It just took a little longer than most.

Slicing through and freeing my limbs, I wearily stood on my legs, feeling like a newborn learning how to walk. I let out a breath and glanced over my shoulder at Victor. His body still twitched from the jolts but the effects were waning, his bloody hands closing in on the deserted gun. Dust scorched my dry throat as I walked over, stepping on his joined wrists harshly. He tilted his head up toward me. My stomach squelched. The only side of his face that was visible was marred and scorched by the flare, disintegrating his mask of innocence. He was a monster, inside and out. Leaning down, I retrieved the pistol from his weak fingers and stood, positioning my aim. My arms were rigid, eyes hard and unforgiving. That darkness stirred, edging me off the cliff.

I took the jump.

"Rose-" he started. The piercing clip cut him off. The pull of the trigger and the gun's echo left only silence in its wake as it broke the sound barrier of the night. Even the birds fell silent.

The smoke rising from the barrel looked bleak and otherworldly in the moonlight. I didn't flinch. Even when the bullet went off, my gaze remained steadfast. Blood pooled, soaking into the ground, the dry dirt a greedy glutton sucking up the nutrient. I lowered my arms and removed my heel from his wrists, jaw set tight as I stared at the man lying on the ground. The wind stirred, ebbing away the passing storm. "We match," I said quietly in the soundless dust bowl.

His chest rose up and down, breaths labored but beating. In front of his limp body, his joined hands bled a river a blood. A bullet had gone straight through the middle, mirroring the X-shaped wounds on my palms.

The realization I hadn't killed him seem to creep over him as slowly. Gradually, he rolled onto his back and held up his red hands, stained by blood. It was a sign of surrender. A clear opening. He was daring me to shoot, the eerie smile lighting his scarred face taunting me to do it. I met his stare. There was no emotion on my face.

My hands tightened around my gun, but didn't squeeze the trigger again. I knew exactly what game he was playing. He knew how to use me, how to get under my skin, how to stir that dark, primal animal in me. But I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Not now. Not when I had already won. "Game over, Victor," I whispered. That trademark smile of his grew.

Then, slowly, the still night air of the forest became filled with the laughs of a madman.

* * *

><p>Though the sirens were finally dying down along with my adrenaline, the lights weren't, the blue spiraling beacon flashing by the forest steadily. Radio calls were made left and right, static humming in the charged air. I sat alone on the back bumper of an ambulance (not willingly jumping into the van- I'd learned that lesson), staring out across the dark, tree-bathed horizon, contemplating. One of the crew members that had treated me had also thrown a blanket over my shoulders. I saw that as standard procedure for a patient, not a detective. <p>

But in this case, I guess I was playing the victim. Even I had a tough time denying that. Bandages covered the right side of my neck and wrapped around my hands. My hair and clothes were a wreck, blood staining my collar and smearing under my chin. I'd manage to sprain an ankle, too, in my mini adventure, but the medics were more concerned with my second-degree burns and bleeding than a twisted ligament. I didn't really have room to complain. I was just happy to be alive.

I looked up at the sound of footsteps, Dimitri's boots easily crunching through the twigs. This time, he was sporting his old duster again, a faint smile painting my lips. "I like the wardrobe upgrade," I commented, my voice scraped from the smoke and dust inhalation. He could have shown up in sweats for all I cared though; just seeing him was a major plus for me.

Even in the eclipsed light, I saw his eyes sweep over my injuries, mirroring avid concern and guilt. I knew the medics must have informed him of my condition- which, really, wasn't so bad given the situation- but knowing and seeing were alwaystwo different things. It was clear he wasn't prepared to see me so beat up. And he was piling the blame on himself. "Rose-" he started before stopping himself. It was like I could see him inwardly assailing himself. He sighed, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. This shouldn't of happened if I had just-"

"Enough of that," I said quietly, breaking him from guilt, hating when he put the world on his shoulders. "I'm fine. Still alive, still breathing, still laughing in the face of danger, the untameable, hopeless Rose Hathaway at her best." I scooted over, patting the seat beside me. "Come on. Sit down."

He did. I pulled the blanket around me tighter, still not able to completely shake the cold feeling Victor had left in his wake. Mia and Mason were taking him back to jail- this time in a more confined cell- refusing to hand Dashkov over to the prison ward. They wanted to see him incarcerated themselves. Despite the differences between them, my safety and his damnation were something they could both agree on. It wasn't much, but it was a building block. At least I could rest easy knowing they weren't going to choke each other out tonight.

"Is the FBI going to call you back to New Orleans?" I asked quietly. "You know, since the mystery of the year is solved."

It took him a moment to respond. Out in the fields, crickets chirped. "No," he said, his voice just as soft. "I'm still going to be working with your team. Even with this behind us, there's still the Strigoi problem to deal with."

I chuckled hoarsely despite myself. "Right, we still have much more fun laying ahead. The next mission's the Boston mini mafia, huh? Think we can tackle down the organization by next Saturday?"

He gave me a rare smile. Despite my adrenaline, I felt my chest flutter even more at the sight. It'd been a long time since I'd seen that smile- you know, without the possibility of sex on the table. "Give or take," he said. "We still have some paperwork to clean up, but I think we can deal with the mob in a few day's time."

"Single-handed, right?"

"Naturally."

I couldn't help the return smile my face. It was nice, all things considered. I was laughing off my fear, everything that had been weighing me down the past week. And best of all, I was doing it with Dimitri. For once, our complicated relationship wasn't weighing down on us- we were just _people. _Humans, alive and well, embracing life while we could still hold onto it. "If we're doing that, you need to let me lead this time, comrade. I'm still not thrilled you took over my last case."

"Yes general," he said lightly. "Well. Either way, no one's really a match for us, now are they?"

"It's a shame, if we were on the opposite side of the system we'd make a killer Bonnie and Clyde duo."

"The Strigoi would look like nothing if it came to that."

The banter between us flowed naturally, as easy as the creek I'd tackled him in before. I shook my head playfully, sighing. "If I made it through this, I guess I really can live through anything, huh?"

He didn't respond for a moment. Instead, he laid a hand over my bandaged one, a sweet heat creeping over me. I felt like winter snow being engulfed by the spring sun. Ironic, since it was creeping close to Halloween. Surprised, I looked up at him- I was usually the one initiating physical contact. This time though, it was all him; the moon shone in his eyes. "I'm glad. I'm so glad you're safe Roza."

My gaze softened before turning outward again, squeezing his hand lightly. I knew that. I knew how much he cared for me, how worried he always was for my safety. No matter what happened between us, past or future, I knew he'd do anything to protect me. I would do the same for him. We'd probably make an awesome duo in a romantic-comedy. Too bad life never seemed that simple. Sighing, I laid my head on his shoulder, staring out across the horizon. As much as I complained about his cologne and aftershave, it was soothing. Like coming home after being battered by a winter storm. There was another pause before he asked me, "Why didn't you kill him?"

That was an excellent question. Staring into the forest, it was easy to see the faces of Emmaline and Gabe, of all the lives and victims he claimed. I'd promised them all justice. Sending their killer to the land of the dead seemed like a pretty fair ruling- but was that_ really_ justice? Did I have it in me to make the call of who lived and who died? That was not the kind of power I wanted. Still, Victor plagued me. As long as he was alive, he always would. Perhaps that was just something I had to live with. Perhaps death and I had become too close over the years for me to see clearly anymore.

All of it was complicated. Too complicated for my clouded, world-weary thoughts to comprehend.

"I don't know," I finally replied, "I don't know." He let it drop. No more words about Dashkov were spoken. In fact, no words were spoken at all. We sat like that in silence for a couple minutes, the charged air calming around us. For once, we were just people, sharing the need for human touch and companionship.

I wanted to stay like that forever.

Reality, however, could only give me so much of a break. We straightened and separated as another set of footsteps came around the side of the ambulance. It was Stanton. The dark-skinned CIA agent had a wry smile tugging at her lips, as happy as the rest of us to put this case in the record books. I guessed she grinned about as much as Dimitri. "You did good work out there, detective," she praised, handing me the bottle of water in her hands. "Your medical friends are waiting out by the police tape if you want to see them."

I drank the water gratefully, only pulling back at the mention of multiple people. "What, you mean Lissa and her crew?"

She shrugged haplessly. "Something like that. Oh, Belikov. I still need to brief you on the final input and the media disclosure."

"Of course," he replied immediately. I took all of that as my cue to leave. Gingerly getting off the bumper, Stanton and I exchanged a nod and I started to head out. Dimitri, however, pulled me back one last time.

"Oh, Rose," he intervened. I angled back. Coming to me, he placed something light in my palm, heat transferring and mingling between us while Stanton waited patiently in the background. "We turned this up in the search. I almost forgot to return it to you." He drew his hand back. The _nazar _he had given me five years ago glimmered up at me, as if winking. I smiled. My eyes flickered up and caught his again. We shared a knowing glance.

The sparks were still there. I think they always would be. Back at the academy, I had thought breaking away from him and letting him be happy without me would be best for both of us. I'd played the bad guy in hopes we'd be able to to move on.

I guess that plan had sunk worse than my sabotaged Dashkov operation.

"Thanks," I said, curling my fingers over it. "I'll be sure to hold onto it." Nodding to Stanton again, I turned and headed out. Sure enough, Lissa's posh car (how she could afford such a new model as an ME was beyond me) was stalled on the outskirts, two figures lingering near the trees.

At first, all I saw was Lissa's jade eyes pouring over with relief. I smiled candidly at that before turning my attention over and catching sight of who her extra company was. "Son of a bitch," I swore in surprise at the guy leaning loftily against Lissa's car. "What brought you out here of all places?"

"I heard the great Rose Hathaway had almost met her match," he said, smile edging toward sardonic, blue eyes dancing. "Naturally, I had to come and see for myself."

I felt myself slowly grin in return. "Wow, I forgot how much I missed your abrasive charm, fire boy- too bad I pulled through." Christian shook his head in amused exasperation at the use of the old nickname, dubbed from our high school days when he set the class ass Ralph on fire during chemistry class. He was just like I remembered. Tall (not Dimitri-tall, but far past the 6-foot mark) with messy black hair and piercing sapphire eyes. Most importantly, he still had his sharp tongue. I was relieved. He was one of the only ones able to keep up with my quick wit; if college hadn't pulled me out of state, we'd probably have a show-down nightly.

Honestly, what surprised me wasn't his sudden reappearance (which, yeah, _had_ left me a little starstruck- but to be fair, I'd learned to deal with crazy reunions lately). What really stumped me was his attire. "Oh man. I suppose fire boy is a bit informal, huh? _Doctor _Ozera."

I never though I'd see the day. Christian Ozera had a medical license, and was flaunting it _Grey's Anatomy_ style. I was used to seeing Lissa dressed up in white, but Christian? The most formal I'd ever seen him was when his supposed aunt had stuffed him into a stiff suit for prom. I hadn't even been his date yet I'd taken enough photos with him to blackmail him for decades.

Actually, come to think of it... his date had been Lissa_. _Back then it had made sense, seeing as the two dated for about 3 years, but Lissa's insane great-aunt Tatiana had done a lot to take a toll on their relationship. Add that to Lissa's drive to go to Leigh and the sudden death of Christian's parents? Well. Things hadn't ended on a romantic note between them. I hadn't seen them together past graduation. In fact, I don't think _they _had seen each other since then.

Which brought up way more questions than answers. Seeing me raise an eyebrow at her, Lissa sighed and explained, "Christian treated Mason earlier at the hospital, and after hearing about your condition, Mason practically dragged me along to his office to get him to come."

"I thought you were on your way to the morgue by the way he was acting. You certainly know how to pick them, Rose."

I rolled my eyes, able to imagine Mase perfectly. Though I was keeping it light, I had to admit it was sweet. Mason always knew where to puncture the mushy part of me. He really was a good guy. I don't know how much I could vouch for my current male company, but I might just have to get my partner that basket of muffins. "I can see how worried you were while ordering my coffin from the undertaker," I replied flippantly. "Did you spring for FedEx or UPS?"

"FedEx actually- cheaper overnight shipping between the two."

"You put your research worth's in. Well, sorry to break your overflowing doctoral bank, but either way, I'm not reimbursing that fine."

He began to try to sell me on the idea when Lissa interrupted, sighing like we were young kids fussing over a dodge ball. I think she was trying to suppress a smile, too. "Are you two done yet? We really should get you to a hospital and stitch your wound, Rose."

I made a face. I seriously hated hospitals. My best friends were doctors, couldn't they work some magic here without dragging me into the Boston ER? Christian straightened, replying primly. "Of course. Just as soon as I'm able to drive us this time."

She scoffed, keys in hand. Sometimes she could be just as stubborn as me. "Over my dead body."

"Hitting a little close to home, aren't you?"

As they began to banter (still acting like fighting lovers in my opinion), I reflected inwardly. Something had been bothering me for awhile- and with the whole Dashkov craziness, I'd been a little preoccupied to think about it. I didn't remember much in my drugged state, but that night with Dimitri had stuck out sharply amidst the gray fog. Why? Why that memory among all the rest?

Honestly, I didn't know. I didn't understand why my subconscious had been so fixated on that memory, continuing to pull me back. Maybe that was just the first time I realized it. Maybe that was the first time I fell in love. I glanced back at the ambulance, the lights reflecting two long shadows obscured from my vision._ Love huh?_ I mused to myself.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Lissa asked. I hadn't even realized their small argument had subsided. From their unchanged positions, I guessed she'd won. _Just like the old days. _

It took me a couple moments to reply. "Not much," I answered truthfully. "Just about some loose ends I have to tie up."

She looked surprised. "What, you didn't cover everything in your most recent adventure?"

"Not everything," I said, pulling the blanket closer and slipping in through the open car door, ignoring Christian and Lissa as they shared a look above me. I glimpsed back once more at the blue and red beams streaming across the horizon in the dead of night. The _nazar _smoldered in my palm. Green eyes and rusted blood colored my vision.

I wasn't out of the game yet.

**And now we're off to tie off loose ends~ I really hope this chapter and climax lived up to your expectations, I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Do I at least get points for finally getting Christian in on the action? Hopefully we'll also get a cameo of my favorite VA character next chapter.**

**Reviews/Favorites/Follows would be absolutely lovely.**


	16. Closure

My heart beat in my ears. On the bed, with our close proximity making my breath catch in my throat, it was hard for me to find my voice. Really, it was hard for me to focus on anything else at the moment. For once, my fail-safe Rose Hathaway quips and TV sitcom commentary had abandoned me as I remained in my hospital room, my former-teacher and first-love barely a breath away from my skin. "Dimitri, are you sure-"

"Roza, just relax. I do have practice in this, remember?" Yeah. I did remember. The electric jolts surging through my skin at his touch was the same from 5 years. I was still awestruck at how a guy who broke necks and took down serial killers in his leisure time could be so gentle with me. And with my injuries being the way they were, gentle was what I needed.

"D-Don't be rough, Comrade," I warned, silently scolding myself for tripping over my words. It was hard to look like an invisible rock star/goddess when my speech was stumbling.

"I know, I know. I'll be gentle. Trust me."

He caressed my skin with cool, long fingers while my fingers curled into the stock-white sheets of the hospital bed. My imagination was running wild, past my control. While this was a far cry from a romantic scene, a small voice in my head noted that a bed, even a sucky one like this, was better than the gym mats from before. That small realization was forgotten when he reached a sore spot. I flinched. He noticed instantly.

"Sorry, it's hard to see the bruising. It won't be-" That's when he hit a sensitive spot. A really, really sensitive- and not enjoyable- sore spot.

"_Ouch_!" I exclaimed, shouting. "Son of a bitch!" From the other side of the open, glass windows of my examination room, I saw from my peripheral a bewildered mother covering her 5-year old son's ears and quickly scurrying by. Apparently, my voice traveled. Knowing my luck, all of the fourth floor had heard my snapping. I groaned. "Shit. I just corrupted that kid for life. This is why I told you to teach me Russian swears at the academy," I accused.

Dimitri simply shook his head in amusement. Somehow, my corrupting small children didn't seem to surprise him. "You don't need any more bad habits. And giving them another word like 'shit" doesn't exactly help," he added.

I gave him a pointed look, still unhappy his handiwork was what had spurred that series of events in the first place. "Just do your job."

I was sitting on my hospital bed, thankfully in my normal clothes and spared from the hideous gown, while Dimitri was knelt on the floor, probing my swollen ankle. In all the craziness from last night, an ankle injury had been the least of my problems. It didn't help that my thoughts weren't really focused on my injury at the moment, either, and formulating different scenarios instead- like, say, using the bed and curtains to our advantage. Dimitri was all business, though. "You should have told the paramedics you sprained your ankle."

"Well, I _did _have a couple other things on my plate at the time," I pointed out.

"Which is why I offered to be your nurse now. Do you really want Christian to come back in and take care of it?" He was met with silence. We both knew the answer to that. Seemingly happy he wasn't met with opposition, he refocused his attention on his work, using that Boy Scout, first-aid training to use. "Now, where does it hurt?"

I blew strands of dark hair out of my face as I instructed Dimitri about my injury and he wrapped it accordingly. We wouldn't be using those curtains this morning, apparently. Last night had been all about bed rest and no physical stress, too. My luck really wasn't stellar. After a few minutes, he managed to tie off the wrappings and stand, just as a tapping on the door frame alerted me to a visitor.

It wasn't at all who I expected.

"Mom," I acknowledged, surprised. I couldn't believe it. That probably wasn't the typical reaction for a mother-daughter interaction, but honestly, I would have been less shocked if Stan, the poster boy for male PMS, had flown in here with a box of chocolates and singing apology card at the news of my hospital one-nighter. Sure enough though, my petite mother was the one in the doorway, her auburn hair tied strictly back as she cast wary, dark eyes between us. "Rose. Agent Belikov," she greeted in turn, her voice laced with uncertainty.

Even in the 50's range, she still had enough intuition to pick up that she'd walked in on something. With no neck tie on the door handle, however, she'd somehow deemed it safe enough to walk in. Dimitri nodded in recognition and respect. Just as I'd realized Stanton's high stature, he knew the CIA legend Hathaway and greeted her as such. He and I shared a look before he conceited, "I should go and check to see if the media coverage is under control. I'll leave you two alone."

I couldn't say I was happy that he'd used a flimsy reason to ditch me with my mother, especially since he knew about the ongoing, Hathaway war. But in retrospect, having him here with my speculative mother was an even more horrifying thought, so I clamped my lips shut as he slipped out. She shot me a quizzical look from the corner of her eye, not voicing her thoughts until he'd walked out. "Wasn't that your former teacher?"

I blinked a couple times, wondering where she'd pieced that from, before mentally slapping myself up the head. The Christmas break I'd come home during my FBI training I'd told Sydney (mostly) about Dimitri, my God of a teacher. Apparently, my mother had overheard. That happened to be the same Christmas we went boxing and she'd given me a black eye with the force of a small truck, so my memory was a little foggy from back then.

"Um, yeah. He's our FBI consultant at the moment."

**"**He spent the night here?"

"Kind of," I said, remembering that had been the pattern for the past few days. "He tends to do that."

I think she wanted to make some comment about keeping business and pleasure separate, but for once, kept it to herself. I was grateful for it. I wasn't exactly in the best shape to square off with her, especially so early in the morning. She chose not to pursue our dysfunctional relationship and gave me a once-over instead, examining my injuries. My hands and the side of my neck were still taped up, my recently-cared-for ankle joining the list. She breathed out. "Rose, I-" She stopped herself. After a small hesitation, she finished her train of thought, stating bluntly, "I'm sorry."

"I... say that one more time?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated. I stared, thrown off guard. An apology from my mother was so rare, I wanted to break out my phone and record it to replace her doomsday ring tone. I didn't even care what it was for.

Still, after recomposing myself and deciding the phone thing would shatter our small moment of peace, I felt obliged to ask. "Uh, what are you apologizing for, exactly?"

She sighed as she absently walked around the room, her jacket folded in between her crossed arms. If this had been my dorm room at college, I was fairly sure she would have fiddled with my small belongings and tried to extract some personal information about me. In compensation, she brushed the small cupboard on the East side of the room instead. "I haven't been supportive of your job or... of you."

"Really?" I hadn't meant it to come out sarcastic or dry, but she frowned at my tone of voice and set down the get-well card Alberta had gotten me.

"Rose, listen." For once, I did. "I understand that we don't always see eye-to-eye and I know how my job put a strain on our relationship when you were growing up... but it doesn't mean I don't care for you any less."

I stared. I didn't know which I found more unbelievable: her words or the fact she was admitting them. "Seriously? You want me to believe that? Mothers that care send letters, they show up for Christmas and birthdays- at the very least, they say 'I love you' and you've avoided the L-word like the plague the past 27 years."

Despite my biting words, I didn't get worked up. I couldn't. She stopped me short. If she'd been quiet and stoic as usual, sure, I could have ranted for hours; instead though, she'd left herself open for once as she looked at me with sad, mirroring brown eyes. They looked almost... regretful. "Rose, that job... _this _kind ofjob... it all takes its toll. It drives a wedge through relationships and calls for sacrifice. It's why I didn't want it for you. Even if you're strong enough to handle it, it's not something I would have ever wished for you. It makes it hard to be supportive when your daughter's job is dodging bullets and taking down lunatics."

I stared again. I found it slightly hypocritical she'd point that out when her former job was probably three times as deadly and dealt with global security, not issuing traffic tickets. "You've never said anything like that before. When I told you I was going into FBI training, you didn't try to stop me or anything. You all but shipped my bags to the airport."

"I wouldn't put it quite like that, but you're right, I didn't stop you. You'd already made up your mind. Believe it or not, Rose, I know you well enough to realize nothing I could have said would have made you change your mind. If I had discouraged it, that probably would have made you jump on the law enforcement boat ten times quicker instead."

There was no witty reply for that one. She'd hit the nail on the head. With no comebacks, my mother continued after a brief lapse of silence. "I am proud of you, Rose. I wouldn't have chosen your career path per say- no sane parent would have- but I'm still proud. Even with my reputation in the CIA and the help I've done... the greatest thing I've truly ever done was bringing you into this world. So I'm sorry if I haven't been supporting. But the last thing I wanted was to see you get hurt because of this."

"I didn't really pin you as the over-protective type," I remarked lightly. Still, even as I said that, the pieces clicked together. While my mother and I mostly chose to keep our relationship a distant one, she'd kept close throughout the entire investigation, bombarding my phone and even making a visit in person. While her advice and words were harsh and point-blank, I realized that was just her personality coming out. She didn't know how to sugarcoat things. Like Sydney, she was all about facts and logic; my chosen involvement in the case had probably thrown her for a loop. Dimitri was right. The crappy text messaging and awful advice was the only way she'd known how to show affection. Man. That CIA gig must have seriously damaged her emotional processing centers.

She shook her head at my comment, hugging her coat tighter. "I'm surprised it doesn't show. When I first heard that you'd been attacked by Dashkov initially… I didn't know what to do with myself. Sydney was the person that convinced me to see you in the hospital instead of going after Dashkov that night."

I chose not to comment on the Sydney thing. While Sage and I had been known to get together in bars, I was fairly sure she'd split a drink (probably lemon water) with my mom in light of their similar career paths and most likely kept in touch. Besides, something else had caught my attention during her recap. I frowned. "You came to the hospital?" I asked. It was a serious quesiton. I was out the entire night back then; I could have slept through the falling of the Berlin Wall without my REM cycle being disturbed. Come to think of it though, I had felt a comforting presence beside me while I was resting. I'd just assumed it was Mia or a stationary nurse. When she nodded, I paused. "Would you have... were you really thinking of killing Victor?"

She shrugged. Admitting to almost killing someone was second-nature to her by now. "Doesn't your cable plan pick up National Geographic? You should watch that special on mother Grizzly bears sometime."

I smiled a little despite myself. I was starting to see where I'd gotten some of my traits. "So.. that's why you came to see me now?"

She nodded again. "I was told you were safe, but... I had to check."

She let that hang in the air for a while. Neither of us knew what social protical called for after that, and after a while, I could see her stirring, uncomfortable. I didn't blame her. That was the longest conversation we'd ever had, and the fact most of the talking came from her was dazing. This was probably the part where we made up, hugged, and went on our way, but neither of us were that clean-cut.

So we didn't have a warm-and-fuzzy mother-daughter relationship yet. Holding a conversation with no snarky remarks or biting tone though? Acting like humans for once and talking out our problems without Dr. Phil mediating? I counted that as progress. Besides, neither of us were really hugging people anyway. I don't know if I could take that kind of codling from my mother (if the woman even knew the meaning of that word).

She cleared her throat after several awkward moments. "Do you want me to wave Agent Belikov back in?"

"No, it's alright. He's probably out doing all kinds of FBI, need-to-know chores." That was definitely not something I wanted to pursue. I'd had enough of decoding those secrets in the past 24 hours to last me a lifetime. I got to my feet gingerly, testing my ankle. It would hold, so long as I didn't decide on doing a 5K. Slipping on my boots, I tacked onto my explanation, "Besides, I have other things to wrap up for this case after I get the OK of release from Christian."

She gave me a sideways look at that ominous statement. "That's not very comforting for a mother, you know."

"Don't worry. This part doesn't involve any serial killers. I hope."

She sighed. "Well, it's not like I'll be able to stop you now, either. Here. At least take this to keep you safe." She unwrapped her scarf and looped it over my head, tucking my dark locks in. It was no hug, but it was probably the most motherly gesture I'd managed to get out of her.

I looked at it questionably. "A scarf is supposed to keep me safe?"

"Of course. It's a family heirloom."

I frowned slightly at that, touching the colorful, woven fabric. My mother turned, deeming her presence no longer needed, and strolled out of my hospital room. That's when a thought dawned on me. "Wait, I thought you said you didn't keep in touch with you side of the family," I called.

My mother spared a glance back over her shoulder. If I wasn't mistaken, there was a humorous note in her voice. "I never said it was from _my _bloodline." With that, she left and headed toward the elevators.

I stood there, letting that sink in as the cotton tickled under my chin. While she hadn't said it straight out, I knew instantly what she was getting at. This was my father's scarf.

I didn't know much about my dad. While I had my mother's bone structure and wavy hair, my coloring was all from my Turkish, paternal side. The only thing I knew about the man personally was his supposed "mobster" role as his choice of career. How a CIA agent and probable mass criminal got together to produce me, I'd never know.

Maybe I'd been destined to be involved with, and subsequently crack, mysteries from the start.

* * *

><p>Sydney had always been a bigger of fan of flowers than me- lilies in particular. It almost rivaled her love of coffee. Had her father not influenced her, I was fairly sure she would have leaned toward getting the Starbucks mermaid tattooed instead of the golden lily stretching across her cheek. And despite my namesake, I found myself carrying a white bouquet of lilies instead of roses as I entered through the iron mar of the rusted gate, the bleak grass giving way without noise.<p>

The weather matched my mood. Dark clouds hovered over the city, a gray background for a dreary day while the late October air nipped at my heels and herded me on. I bundled my jacket closer. I was grateful for the scarf at that point, family heirloom or not. If my mother had meant it would keep me from hypothermia when she said it would keep me safe, she'd been dead-on.

Still, I kept going despite the cold. This was something I had to do. When I got to my first destination, my footsteps stopped dead and my eyelids grew heavy. I let out a breath, the fogged mist spilling from my lips and swirling in the air. The soil was fresh. With a lurching heart and quivering fingers- something I would blame on the cold later on- I set two lilies down. The _chotki_ on my wrist glimmered in the dim light. As I straightened and the wind billowed lightly through my hair, I read the two names in silent respect. _Dr. Moroi Colbe and Gabrielle Colbe. _I could understand why the doctor had chosen not to publicly disclose his first name most of the time. I would do the same with that kind of name.

As I moved quietly through the rows of etched stones, trouble gnawed at me. It was a feeling I couldn't shake, just like the bracing cold. Distracted, I stepped on a twig and snapped it, making a crow in one of the barren trees react. A loud caw and flutter of wings snapped my head over and stopped me dead in my tracks again, my heart pounding in my chest. The black form surged into the air, still forming loud calls in its throat as it flew off. Even after it became a dot in the gray sky, I didn't move. My heart was racing. It wasn't the crow that was bothering me, exactly. It was the omen in itself and my prior appointment to the graveyard that was weighing heavily on my mind. After I'd been released and before I came to visit Dashkov's victims here, I'd made a side-stop.

A side-stop I'd ultimately regretted.

_I wasn't a fan of hospitals. That went without saying. The potent, clogging smell of bleach, the cage of white walls, the dripping of IV staffs pumping life into their owner- it all creeped the hell out of me. That being said, it seemed crazy that I'd willingly enter another hospital after being released from mine. But this was for a different purpose. This wasn't about healing physical wounds, but mental ones. Scars that had been carved by a scalpel into my soul, unsterilized untouched. This was about closure. _

_My bandaged fingers fumbled the doorknob as it slipped from my grip. Sadly enough, I had to flag down a nurse just to enter his room. Once she came over though, the door easily swung open, his pale jade eyes turning to me. They were hazy and unclear, a miasma of detached thoughts. He wasn't physically attached to any surgical pumps though, which was enough of a plus for me to keep my composure. I smiled. "Hello, Robert." _

_There was a pause. "You're the Rose girl aren't you?" The Dashkov brother turned his back, stating simply, "You shouldn't be here." Well. That was welcoming. I wasn't sure if he meant I shouldn't be alive or I shouldn't be sporting my Visitor's Pass. Neither was a comforting option. The nurse spared me a questioning glance. I nodded and she slipped back outside, leaving me alone with him._

_I'd never learned what happened between the Dashkov brothers the night Victor visited him. In this case though, I guess it didn't matter. Some words and conversations were better left alone. I took a seat across from him, my white, gauze-wrapped hands settling in front of me. Briefly, I was reminded of my initial reunion with Victor in jail. Robert wasn't like his brother though. There was no calculating or malicious prodding. Instead, he reminded me of a child, as opposed to his boogie man brother waiting under my bed. "Why are you here?" he asked quietly. "You shouldn't be here."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Victor will be mad."_

_I averted my gaze at that. I could feel my burns starting to swell again with heat at the memory. "Am I supposed to be with him?"_

"_No," he answered simply. "You're not supposed to be anywhere. You're supposed to be gone."_

"_You mean dead." _

_He didn't respond. I took that as a "yes". Boy. Idolization really took a toll someone's mind. With Robert's already unstable condition, I wasn't surprised that he held his brother on a pedestal. From the stories, Robert was the only one that could bring out Victor's gentle side to boot. I guess to reach him, I had to be just as earnest. Too bad I wasn't known for being sugary-sweet. "Robert... I'm not a bad person."_

"_Neither is Victor," he said quietly, but fixated. I could see his fingers curl in and out, apprehensive. I'd edged him somehow but pushing against his beliefs, the beliefs Victor drilled into him about me. Damn it. It was becoming stunningly clear I didn't have the maternal instincts to take care of kids, let alone interrogate a 40-year old that acted like one. There went my 2nd-grade aspiration to be a kindergarten teacher. "You don't know him," he whispered. "You just don't know him."_

"_Robert," I tried again, "please try to understand-"_

"_Did you kill him?"_

I swallowed. Squeezing my eyes shut then opening them, like trying to banish a migraine, I continued forward toward another set of graves on the west side. Even as I pushed myself forward in reality, the reel of memory wouldn't stop.

_I hesitated. The detour was so abrupt, it took me a moment to recompose myself. "I... no. I didn't kill him. I had that option at one point but..."_

"_But you didn't," he finished for me. I simply nodded. He turned his gaze back to me, his focus beginning to defog, coming out of his daydream. "I... don't understand then. If you didn't kill him, why are you here? What are you hoping for?"_

_I paused again. That was a fabulous question on his part, really. I had no professional reason to visit him; the case was closed and there was no obituary section of the newspaper to hand to him, boring Victor's name. But for some reason, I was still haunted. I'd turned so much last night in my hospital bed, I had to sanction Dimitri out in the hall before he worried himself to death. No pun intended. "Closure, I guess."_

"_Closure for a man you didn't kill?"_

"_It's... complicated."_

I reached the west side. There were already flowers coating this set of graves, as new as the dirt sprinkled in front of the stone marks. _John Grant _and _Emmaline Grant_. I set two down two more flowers. Among the other blooming buds, the white lilies were a contrast of pure, heavenly white. I was glad I'd gone with white. After a black-clothed funeral, it seemed fitting. Right.

_He stared at me for several minutes, weighing me. As he came out of his dreamy state, his emerald eyes glared in the light, focused and honed in on me. Goosebumps prickled my skin. I wasn't afraid of Robert. The family resemblance was starting to bump up the "unsettling" meter, though. "No," he said after a pause. "It's not."_

"_Robert-"_

"_It's not complicated. Why didn't you kill him?"_

_He was a fan of switching topics, clearly. It was deju vu of my conversation with Dimitri last night. The fact that I was being questioned by a convicted crazy person was even less comforting. Honestly, I still wasn't sure. _'Did I have it in me to call who lived and who died?'

_I didn't know. I had no answer for him. What I did know was that the complex labyrinth of morals and justice was not something I wanted to get into right then. I leaned back in my chair, my bandaged hands falling into my lap as I looked away, out the far end window. Outside, the autumn leaves stirred in pumpkin colors, the barren trees bracing themselves for the coming winter. "I don't know exactly why I let him live," I told him truthfully. "I just know I don't want to take any lives I don't have to."_

_His eyebrows knitted together. Even without going into the labyrinth, I'd lost him. "You believe he was innocent enough to live?"_

"_I... believe I was too close to the case to make a clear decision." _'Perhaps death and I had become to close over the years for me to see clearly at all.'

_I could feel his gaze bore into me. "Don't give me that rehearsed, moral answer." I glimpsed back at him again. "Tell me why. It wasn't because you didn't want want to sink to his level, that's obvious."_

_My skin unconsciously prickled at the idea. "You're wrong. That's exactly why. I won't play God," I stated firmly. "I refuse to become a makeshift hand of death itself. I refuse to become like Victor."_

_His crystal, jade eyes misted again, lost in his torrent of thoughts. "How strange. You truly believe that, even when Victor and you are so alike."_

"_Victor and I are nothing alike," I said icily, impulsively. _

My breath fogged my vision again. Death. So much death. I was in an ocean of it. The white lilies were the only spot of an angel-kissed blessing in this field of tombstones.

"_Perhaps. Perhaps not. You act like reject death, but in truth you welcome it, just like him. You can't be separated from it. It's stolen people close to you before, you've killed, and you've nearly been killed. Death follows you like a shadow. You're shadow-kissed, Rosemarie Hathaway, already marked for death." _

_The way he said it came out so easily, so nonchalant. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing straight up. Somewhere during our up-and-down conversation, the family resemblance had crossed into a whole other boundary. I felt like I was sitting across from Victor himself. Like he was beckoning death's hand to come for me. That primal, gut instinct wrenched and I found myself clenching my jaw. "Just because he's death's right-wing man doesn't mean my relation to death connects us."_

"_Perhaps. Perhaps not," he repeated. "But there's a reason he chose you."_

"_I already know why he chose me," I answered. Even though I knew I had a clear mind and firm rational, the dream I had of Victor the night of Mason's attack still sent chills down my spine. A part of me told me the whole conversation in that dream was insane. Insane to say, insane to think about. Still, it made sense._

_When I'd been pinned down with scalpels and almost killed, I had just been another victim. It wasn't until later on I'd become different in his book. I was the one victim that had been in his grip- the surrogate hand of death itself- and survived. I was the reason his game wasn't complete. That was what had made me special. Not because death followed me and marked me as the next to fall. Not because I was shadow-kissed._

_Still, Robert didn't appear convinced. "If you knew that, you wouldn't be so unsettled. You wouldn't be looking for closure."_

"_I came to tell you what happened to Victor and why."_

"_And yet you can't give me a reason to why you left him alive."_

"_I told you. I don't want to take more lives than necessary."_

"_We both know that's not why."_

_Our gazes locked. He didn't appear child-like at all anymore. Instead, he reminded me of a cross between Yoda and Buddha, knowing things far beyond his senses. I didn't believe in auras, or spirit dreams, or anything of that nature, but as he looked at me, straight through my soul, I got a strange vibe. He knew more about me that he should. I'd never told anyone of the dark, animal-like knot lurking in my subconscious, but just as Victor had discovered it and used it to push me, Robert seemed aware of it as well. _

_He knew more about me than anyone should._

"_Are you afraid of it, Rosemarie?"_

_He used my full name. Just like Victor. "Afraid of what?"_

"_You know what. Of it. Of you."_

_If I'd had Mia's manicured nails, I would have been clawing up oak as my nails grated against the armrest. Still, my gaze remained steadfast. I wouldn't show weakness. Not to him. And I wouldn't show anger either. "No," I said simply, ignoring the earlier memory of my red-tainted vision and explosion of darkness the night before with his murderous brother. "I can control myself."_

"_Yes, well," he said, a note of doubtfulness and knowing lacing his words. "Let's see how long you can keep that up."_

I squeezed my eyes shut again. This was more than just wanting to banish the memory, though. I needed it to be gone. Tears pricked at my eyes and my deep suck of air was shaky. While a graveyard might not have been the most welcoming reality scene to settle into, it was better than lingering there. Anything was better than lingering there.

Robert and all remains of jade eyes vanished into smoke. All talk of being shadow-kissed vanished, too. I was alone again, in the middle of a field of corpses, but alone nonetheless.

I breathed through my nostrils, controlling myself. I was fine. I would always be fine. Wiping the tears from my eyes, grateful I'd skipped mascara today, I looked down at the last white lily, remembering who it was for. It was a grave I knew all too well.

The soil wasn't new in this section. In fact, the dirt was so tightly-packed and spotted with patches of waning grass, it had melted into the scenery and the rest of the Earth like it'd always belonged there. This time, I paused longer than before and brushed the cool metal of the cross on my wrist. When Lissa had given it to me, she'd said it was a family heirloom, just like the scarf I was wearing now. I think if she hadn't given in it to me that Christmas, her sister would have.

According to the Romanian legend behind this cross, only one person could wear it. A Guardian for the Dragomirs. Whether it meant a guardian angel or someone that housed orphans, I didn't know. But the title was fitting. Natural. Something that'd been bestowed on me- and yet, I couldn't uphold it.

Tears formed again. I didn't bother wiping these away; I just let them go, crystal drops trickling down my cheeks and onto the white, virgin petals. I closed my eyes against my bleary vision, the _chotki _swinging and glimmering in the dim light of the passing storm. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," I choked out, like I'd somehow failed her, repenting at her grave's doorstep. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I don't know how long I stood like that. At some point, I gathered enough common sense to realize I couldn't stay out like this forever, the temperature already draining the color out of my cheeks. Swallowing back the tightness in my throat and not caring about the dry trail of tears carving down my jaw, I kissed the tulip and placed it at her grave. I opened my eyes, whispering for the last time, "I'm sorry, Avery. I'll protect her, though, I promise. I'll protect her."

If she had somehow heard me, I knew she'd know who I was talking about. But I got no reply. The words _Avery Dragomir _etched in stone were the only reminisce of her presence.

Curling my empty hand around the buttons of my coat to nuzzle me closer, I stood up. I swallowed back the lump in my throat and let my eyelashes beat the water out of my eyes. I was fine. I would always be fine.

That was what Avery always used to tell me.

Tucking my other hand into my pocket, I heard another snapping twig, my ears perking. I hadn't been the cause this time. Turning my head, I saw to my surprise another figure in the graveyard. He was tall, albeit lean, and walking away from a sole grave at the end of the patch. I couldn't tell much else about him from the back, and I wasn't sure if his dark hair was mused from the wind or if he had styled it that way.

I was about to say something, when I stopped myself short. What on Earth would I say to him? I had no answer to my self-directed question, and so, I watched him leave without a word spoken between us.

It wasn't until he was completely out of sight that I slowly made my way to the grave of his speculation, my detective instincts getting the best of me. The ground over it was smooth, like Avery's, and the faint name chipped into the ashen stone had been battered by the elements over the time, suggesting it'd been here for countless years. Still, the name was readable. _Danielle Ivashkov._

I looked back over toward the way the tall stranger had left. Maybe I should have said something. Yeah, maybe.

But there was a reason I'd stopped myself. Like me, I had guessed he just wanted to be alone, too.

* * *

><p>The rest of my day was spent reflecting and healing- physically and mentally. I wasn't supposed to be working, but after a call from Lissa and realizing I was going to drive myself crazy thinking about Robert's fortune cookie words and watching <em>Desperate Housewives <em>in my apartment, I headed out toward headquarters around sunset. As I slipped through the security up front, I was surprised to see who my welcoming party was.

"Mark," I acknowledged. "What are you doing here?"

The gray-haired FBI agent smiled, hands pocketed as he came to a stop in front of me. I don't think the welcoming part was planned. "Just wrapping up some paper work. I'm glad I ran into you, I was just about to check the hospital. I have to head back to Virginia tonight."

My face fell instantly at the news. "You're leaving?"

"Have to. Oksana's waiting for me at home and the FBI wants me back at my initial station."

Even though I was sad to watch him leave, I understood and nodded. He and his wife Oksana were practically joined at the hip; I was surprised he'd already been away from her this long. "Alright, well, stay safe."

"You too." We shared a hug, and I had to stretch on my tiptoes to reach. The scarf still tickled my cheeks. While I'd always seen Mark as a sort of father figure, I knew my real dad wouldn't be as prone to hugging as him (if I ever met him), so I made it last. After a few seconds we separated and started our goodbyes. When he was supposed to fill in his round, he paused. Something was on his mind. "Rose, can I ask you a personal question?" I looked at him confused, and nodded. Normally I wouldn't have agreed so willingly, but, well. It was Mark. "Why haven't you settled down yet?"

"'Settled down'? What is this, 1963?"

His smile widened. "You know what I mean. I want what's best for you, and I just keep wondering... well. Why you haven't. You deserve that much, Rose."

I shook my head lightly. It reminded me of my cousin Ambrose who always pushed me to get engaged so he could organize the whole event. Why Mark was bringing it up was lost on me, but I felt obliged to answer nonetheless. "I appreciate it, but... I just haven't had that much luck in the dating category. Plus any guy who loved me wouldn't want me to have this job. And... I love my job." I think that was the first time I'd ever said it aloud, but it was true. I joked about kicking ass, which, yeah, was definitely a perk of the trade, but I couldn't imagine myself doing anything else. Saving the world one step of the time- that had Rose Hathaway written all over it. The _chotki _burning on the side of my wrist seemed to agree.

Mark arched his eyebrow, still stuck on his 'settling down' question. "What about Dimitri?" he asked. I blinked. Man. That had come out of left field. Practically no one knew about my relationship with Dimitri. If someone were to mention us together, it was by our student-teacher roles. That's when I remembered. Mark had been the one to comfort me that day at the academy in the aftermath of Hurricane Blue-Eyes. He and Dimitri also happened to be friends, so small bits of information were probably bound to be exchanged in their gossiping, knitting circle. Of course he'd figured it out. He probably knew while he was droning on in combat theory class and scribbling on the board.

Still, chances were, he didn't know the full story, if he was acting like Dimitri and I would happily get a cup of coffee the moment we saw each other. "It... it just didn't pan out. He's involved with someone else, anyway."

That caught his attention. "What? Who?"

If he was confused, I was far more puzzled. I frowned. If he and Dimitri were gossiping about me, wouldn't they gossip about his dream girl, too? "You know, that... that Tasha girl." Just saying her name made me want to hit a wall and crawl into a ball at the same time. I shifted, uncomfortable. I really wanted to change the topic, and fast.

Mark changed my mind about that, though. After my initial response, he stared at me like I'd just grown three heads. I was about to say something else when, to my utter and complete shock, he burst out laughing. This wasn't a small Dimitri grin; this was rolling-on-the-floor, splitting sides howling. I looked at my seasoned, former teacher, dumb-founded. I wasn't sure if he was laughing, having a heart attack, or turning into a werewolf. "Mark, what are you-" Cue more laughing. I looked around to find the entire lower department staring at us, as bewildered as I was. Probably more, if possible. "For the love of God, would you please make a coherent sentence? Before you give yourself a stroke?"

Mark subsided into chuckles, clutching his sides. I might as well have just made the most clever punchline known to man. It'd be nice to know what I said, though. "What are you talking about? Tasha and Dimitri aren't together."

I stared again. He'd lost me entirely. "What? Of course they are. They were talking about an arranged marriage their families had made, and going back to Russia together, and, I don't know, having stupid, blue-eyed Russian babies and-"

"Rose, no, no," Mark interrupted, stopping me from having my own self-induced stroke. "Think about it, have you seen Dimitri with a wedding band? He and Tasha aren't together. I mean, sure, they tried for a couple months in high school, but they fell through pretty quickly. Dimitri actually broke up with her, if I remember correctly."

"But the arranged marriage they were talking about-"

"-was between Dimitri's oldest sister and Tasha's cousin."

I stood there, staring. Oh. _Oh._

Wait. _What._

I had had a noble, awesome love-and-break-up story worthy of _500 Days of Summer _remake, all based on a _misunderstanding _of a _wedding_?

Even though I loved Mark, I found myself smacking his arm as these realizations came to light. "_What_?" I all but shouted, earning us another 15 minutes of fame in the lower lobby of Boston PD. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I thought you knew. I don't even know where you pulled that conclusion from, I figured you and Dimitri had broken up over something else."

"No I did not know." I hit him again. If he hadn't been the one to taught me that, I think he would have been offended, and if it hadn't been for the stiff police force around us braced to pounce, I would have hit him again. "What, you think I was bawling my eyes out like an infant because our horoscopes didn't match up in _Seventeen _magazine?"

"I didn't know, honestly. But I knew about your relationship, and I knew it shouldn't have ended. That was obvious. So," he said, looking both sheepish and proud of himself, "when I found out your department needed an FBI consultant, I... sort of figured five years was enough of a break."

I looked at him, bewildered. "What are you talking about? Are you running a fever or are you just insane?"

He shot me a wink and grin, eyes crinkling. There went the sheepishness, right out the window. "You could say I pulled some strings. What, you didn't think Dimitri showing up was a coincidence, did you?" He turned and started walking away, waving behind him. "Take care of yourself, Rose."

I watched as he strolled out, speechless. I glanced away and shook my head to myself in disbelief, a smile forming in spite of myself, ignoring the stares I was still getting. I didn't care. "Son of a bitch," I said, grinning. He'd put this whole charade together. But I wasn't just grinning because of Mark. A weight that had been pressing down on me for five years had vanished.

Dimitri and Tasha weren't together. They never were. I could have prolonged my limelight among my coworkers by breaking out into dance, but another male voice interrupted me.

"You called?" I looked up at Mason making a lofty grand entrance, hands in pockets sharing my smile. The bandage on his neck was gone. From what I could see, most of the cut was, too. That made one of us.

"Hey, look at you, all patched up." I bottled up my insane happiness and decided not to comment on how 'son of a bitch' had somehow become his nickname. Maybe Mia had dubbed it. Speaking of which... "I'm surprised Mia isn't with you."

He made a face. "I told you we were going to incarcerate Dashkov last night, not weigh love motels on Expedia."

"Oh please, I bet you two bonded," I teased lightly. "You know what they say, love and hate are one in the same."

"No. Those people are crazier than the guy I had to book last night. There is a long, great line between hate and love, the Great Wall of China's twin sister even."

"Right. Keep telling yourself."

Apparently not liking our current conversational topic, he pointedly changed it. "So why are you in today, Hathaway? I thought Alberta called you off for the next couple days."

"Oh that? I have a date tonight to pick up. A female date," I added, seeing his mock heartbroken expression. Right on cue, Lissa appeared from the elevator. At first I thought the fresh air from above sea level and not her basement laboratory was what was making her exuberant, but she was all but brimming with energy as she came over. I couldn't deny I was over-the-moon as well, but her reasoning was probably different than mine. "What's got you so excited, Liss? The fact I'm taking you out for a night on the town?"

"Close. My new Prada heels just came in." Like the would-be model she was, she showed them off appropriately, her legs clearly showing from the mid-thigh-cut of her dress skirt. Mason certainly didn't seem to mind.

"Oh you mean the ones that you were ordering that crashed my first Victor operation? I can see why four inches of cheetah print totally outweighs catching my stalker," I commented.

"Hey you cannot blame me alone for that mess. Besides, all's well that end's well- so I don't appreciate the sarcasm."

"It's a package deal."

With that, and a small, witty exchange between Mason as a final goodbye for the night, Lissa and I left to paint Boston red.

* * *

><p>It was dark by the time we arrived to the bar. Actually, I realized as we slipped through the door, this was the same bar I was supposed to meet Sydney in the night Dashkov's apprentice had made his debut and ruined by nightly plans. Maybe I should have invited her along. Picturing it in my head while we slid into a booth, I decided Sydney Sage wasn't one for a girl's night. Maybe getting tipsy, yes, but not a girl's night.<p>

We ordered a round of beers and got comfortable as soon as they arrived. While I was sure Lissa would have normally chosen a classier drink, she knew my paying didn't include a $100 bottle of brandy, so she went with my first choice instead. There might just be hope for her after all.

We engaged in small talk after that, and even though we'd ruled it as a girl's night only, guys had trouble taking that hint. Christ. I knew I shouldn't have worn a white shirt today. When the first began to confidently stride over, I rolled my eyes and mouthed to Lissa, "Watch this". When he got within a 5-yard distance, I flashed my badge, not looking over once as I took a swig of beer. The guy hesitated instantly before backing up. Lissa looked impressed. "How did you know that would work?"

"Easy. No guy wants a girlfriend, or one-night-stand, who's stronger than him and comes packed. It's like a beacon of warning for any sailors trying to get into these shores."

She chuckled. As Lissa dared another sip of her drink and I warded off another male prospect, I noticed ten minutes in a familiar bundle of cropped, blonde hair and conservative clothes making its way over to our table. She'd come on her own accord, after all. I didn't really question how she knew where I'd be tonight. I knew from experience she could pinpoint a cell phone's GPS, and liked to show up at the most random spots. "Oh man, it's not working on this one," I told Lissa as I flashed my badge at Sydney like a priest trying to shield away an exorcist subject with a cross. "Back, you, back."

The flaw in my technique became apparent quickly as Sydney wound up standing right in front of our table, arms crossed and eyebrow arched amused. Lissa seemed to be on the same road as her, smiling. "A gallant welcoming as always, I see. How's that working for you?" Sydney asked.

"I think you just answered your own question. The effects on the same gender are still in their trial stage, mind you." I tucked my badge away. Despite my teasing, I was glad to see her without the pressures of hunting a serial killer at hand.

"You can count this as conclusive results, then." The reply came out instantly. That was Sydney for you. Witty bantering she could pull out once in a while, but logic and product testing was where she really strived.

"I'll be sure to think about it. What are you doing, lurking around here, Syd?"

"Don't make it sound so bad. I wanted to see you and, well, give you this." I hadn't noticed the bag tucked under her arm until then. She handed it to me. And here it wasn't even my birthday. Taking the brown, crinkling bag, I dug out the small attempts at keeping it hidden under transparent, confetti-colored wrapping paper and produced a handbag. I gaped. It was stamped with a crazy expensive designer and made out of red leather, exactly like the bag I'd once lost at an airport, courtesy of falling asleep at Sydney's gate. "Like it?" she asked as a follow-up when I didn't reply right away.

"It is completely overpriced and is probably going to get destroyed in my line of work. I love it."

Sydney shook her head, smiling. "I thought that'd be your reaction."

"You want a bottle of champagne in return? I still have it in the back of my car." I waggled my eyebrows, still keeping my latest prize close. "It has your name written all over it."

"Thanks, but I'll pass." I don't know if she was saying that sincerely, or if it was her cross necklace talking for her at that point. "I really only came by to drop that off. I have to go back to Russia tonight."

"Sydney Sage, I don't think you're supposed to be telling average citizens about your CIA operatives."

"You're anything but ordinary, Rose. Besides, Russia's a big place. I doubt you'll be able to pinpoint me."

"Maybe Dimitri can teach me Russian geography _and _upper-government hacking tricks."

She rolled her eyes again. Sydney hated to admit it, but I knew she appreciated our rare, bantering sessions. Her job didn't exactly scream "fun and light-hearted" in the conventional sense; any chance at normality was probably a treasured one to her. Even without an assassin status, I could relate. "I think you've gotten into enough trouble lately for me to be worried."

I grinned. "You never know. Come on, Syd, at least join us for one round. You agreed to meet me here earlier in the week, and it's not like you'll be flying the plane tonight."

I could see her hesitate as she eyed the beers on the table. Apparently, she had planned to drink water when she planned our bar meeting. After a pause, she asked, "Is it low-calorie?"

Lissa and I exchanged a look. "Uh, well, lower calories than a Twinkie at least. And no sugar," I added in as I saw her once-tempted look immediately grow not-so-keen. I should have expected as much. While I'd been gouging out on a five-course meal during our college days, Sydney had stuck to a side salad and mineral water. How she survived without chocolate for all days in a given month was beyond me.

"Thank you for the offer, but again, I'll have to pass. I have to save room for the free nuts and complimentary water bottle on board my transatlantic flight."

"Right. Of course," I said as if it was the most logical thing in the world. In truth, her logic and mine were worlds apart, but I knew getting into a health debate with Sydney Sage over beer would end poorly for me.

Sydney smirked, her golden tattoo glimmering as her lips twitched up. Even without saying anything out loud, she'd picked up on my tone. "Enjoy the handbag and beer. I'll see you soon, Rose. Lissa."

With that curt goodbye that reminded me so much of a mini-Janine, she turned and left to resume her CIA work after wrapping up her latest case in state. Watching her leave the bar, I noticed a guy doing the same across the room. Curious and always a good friend, I examined him. Even from this distance, I could see emerald eyes gleam in the dim light as they followed after her, cigarette smoke dancing in the air in a gray tango. It wasn't until she'd left fully that he seemed to feel my gaze. His eyes strayed to me. He broke out into an instant, devil-may-care grin and winked.

I frowned. It wasn't just because he appeared to have the natural charm of a circus mentalist, he already had girls hanging around him, and had chosen to take up vices like clover cigarettes and champagne. It wasn't any of those things. He looked familiar. Really familiar. Maybe I'd seen him around the city before. Maybe I'd seen him in an old copy of _GQ. _He definitely had the cheek bones and audacity for it. Either way, Lissa dragged my attention back to her before I could divulge into another, non-murder mystery, and the mysterious green-eyed male left me in peace after that. Lissa made a toast. "To wrapping up the murder case of the year." Whether her chirpiness really came from the fact the case was wrapped up, or, more likely, her excitement over her shoes, I wasn't sure. I clinked my glass with hers regardless.

When our small talk continued, it drifted away from typical girl's night topics to our job and her toast's implications. She sighed at one point, setting her beer down. She'd only tackled half her bottle, while I was closing in on my third. That was understandable. I always could hold my liquor better than her. "I'm glad we wrapped up this case. It's always sad when we... can't. When we get cold cases. It makes me feel helpless."

My gaze flickered up, catching the sadness fogging her jade eyes in the dim, bar light. Where her mind was drifting was no mystery to me. "You mean cases like Avery?"

"Avery, the Strigoi murders, the Foster case we worked last month... I don't know. It just seems like no matter what we do, even if we solve one case, it leaves us with a dozen more to deal with."

"Well, that's the beautiful thing about Boston. When one mystery is solved, it gives us a dozen more to deal with and preoccupy our Saturday nights."

"I thought you were an advocate of saving the world."

"Of course we're still going to save the world," I replied candidly. "I don't need to dress up like Anne Hathaway and call myself Cat Woman to kick some ass, last names aside."

Lissa smiled. Still, I could see that serious side of her lingered. "Alright, Cat Woman. So what now?"

I shrugged, trying to lighten the mood as always. Old habits die hard. "We do the same thing as we always do. I kick ass and you do your thing in the lab. That's how this beautiful friendship works. Besides with you cozied up in your lab while I break a nail in the field and you wait for results, you can invite fire boy over to keep you company."

She made a face. My attempts had worked. "Christian and I aren't together. I just... needed his medical opinion. Besides, I would not 'cozy up' with him at work."

"Okay, you're right, maybe not in the medical lab. Autopsies and dead bodies aren't typically a turn on- if they were, I'd be worried. But that doesn't exclude other venues in the future."

"Are you really trying to set me up?"

"I'm giving you helpful advice. When have I ever steered you wrong?" The jaded look she gave me spoke for her in her silence. "Alright, alright, when have I ever steered you wrong with Christian?"

She shook her head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Well, it _is _girl's night," I reminded her.

"So what about you?"

I arched an eyebrow. "What about me?"

"Don't think you can escape the topic if you're going to subject me to it. What about your love life?" Her eyes sparkled happily. I took that as an instant cue of danger and eyed her cautiously. "What about Dimitri?"

It was the second time that day someone had admitted to knowing about Dimitri and I's not-so-professional status. Jesus, was it that obvious? I didn't recall ripping each others clothes off in the middle of the office or even dropping a suggestive comment during our interactions. Lissa was known to be intuitive, though. Her Harvard-IQ really could be a pain in the ass some days. "You picked up on that, huh?"

"Of course I did. Plus Mason told me he spent the night at your apartment." God damn it Mason. Just as I loved Mark, I loved my partner, but really wish I'd smacked him when I had the chance. This is why I joked about boxes of chocolate and roses at work, and kept my love life vague. High school gossip and PD gossip were practically indistinguishable. "Why didn't you tell me about your thing with Dimitri? How long has this been going on?"

"It's been, uh, off-and-on I guess." Yeah. That was one way to put it.

"For how long?"

"I don't know, five years-"

"_Five years_?" I might as well have kept a secret family stowed in Guatemala from her reaction. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well... you never asked."

She rolled her eyes, just like Sydney, and took a swig of her drink before saying, lips moving against the rim. "Well, I'm asking now. It's easy enough to see the sparks fly between you two- both good and bad once in a while." She paused. "But where does that leave you and Dimitri now?"

_That_ was a damn good question. I replayed my conversation with Mark earlier. Hell, I replayed all of the moments Dimitri and I had shared, our chemistry, our fights- basically, our entire rocky-but-awesome relationship. "Honestly, Liss? I have _no_ idea." Both of our cell phones buzzed. Duty calls. "But you know the great thing about being a detective?" I asked, smiling as we slipped out of the booth. "Cracking mysteries, even in the form of a 6'7" god, is all a part of the job."

She didn't look satisfied at that response. "That isn't an ambiguous reply at all."

I grinned, answering my phone on the fourth ring, hand on hip. "Hathaway."

"Dragomir."

We both listened as the different leagues of our department gave us the run-down on our newest case. "Alright, I'll be right there," we said in sync. However, exiting the bar, I found we were _too_ in sync. Both Lissa and I wound up on the driver side door.

I arched an eyebrow, my keys burning in my pocket. "What are you doing? I'm driving."

"I know what your driving habits are like, Rose. I want to get there, but I want to get there alive.

I groaned. She was as bad as Sydney and Dimitri. So much for trust. "Oh for God's sakes, Liss, you really want to fight with me over this- now? Come on, if we don't get there soon, Stan's going to steal my thunder and I'm going to have to put my gun to use for real."

"We could always crack open that champagne bottle," she suggested helpfully.

"Great, give Alberta another reason to investigate me, besides getting in the middle of the FBI." Our back-and-forth banter and Lissa's laughter echoed through the night as our sisterly debate dragged on. Far off, police sirens wailed, joining the party ahead of us, while the Boston sky twinkled with stars above- stars kind of like the glow-in-the-dark ones Lissa and I used to count from the ceiling as kids.

**Voila! Ladies and gentleman, we've finally reached the end of the arch for this lovely story. Forgive the late conclusion, after 3 months, 5 script changes, and countless pots of coffee, this was the end result. Hopefully you all enjoyed! Well, as much as you could enjoy Rose getting chased by a serial killer. **

**Many thanks to Richelle Mead and Tess Gerristen for their awesome characters and ideas. If you guys enjoyed this take on ME and detective best buds, I highly recommend watching Rizzoli&Isles. Seriously. You won't regret it. And of course, thanks to all of you guys for supporting this story as well. Each Review/Favorite/Follow made my day. Basically, you're all awesome, incredible, and deserve a Dimitri gift basket from your UPS carrier. But I don't want to make this into any more of a Golden Globe acceptance speech, so I'll wrap this monologue up.**

**Until next time, stay classy, VA fans. **


	17. Epilogue: Death Never Dies

The snow fell loftily from the dark frame of night, coating the industrial roof of the headquarters and the Boston landscape. I sat on a dusted off radiator box, the cold biting at my bare arms and seeping through my jeans as I stared out at the glowing skyscrapers. The cold was nothing. I'd long since gone numb, inside and out, ignoring the wind while it played with my dark tangles of hair. It was the first snowfall of the year. The November air was the embodiment of an early winter, and I knew I must have looked idiotic taking my pity party outside in the upper atmosphere without a coat. I needed peace and quiet, though- even if it came at the price of frostbite.

It had been three weeks since Victor was caught. We'd worked on other cases since then, but they always turned out to be nothing outstanding or noteworthy. Honestly, most of the homicides were after dealing with Victor, the renowned serial killer renewing his nickname, "The Surgeon". News had exploded after his capture. I, however, kept out of the limelight, only happening to catch one of the local headlines when I passed a newsstand along the city. In bold black-and-white lettering, Victor was framed on the front page, his picture underlying a rapting title. I was sickened by it. It was like they were glorifying him. While the media continued to pander to their viewers and amp up the horror of his killing spree, I was in the background doodling a villiainous, Rocky-and-Bullwinkle mustache on his mugshot in sharpie.

Still, even incarcerated, he remained center-stage to a good portion of my problems. While I didn't have any spirit dreams or hauntings from his creepy, fortune-teller brother, I rarely got sleep. I was afraid to close my eyes. It might have been childish, but the nightmares never ended. I was afraid to be swallowed by the dark.

_Shadow-kissed_. That's what Robert had called me. Maybe that's what was bothering me. Maybe that's what was making it a bitch to get some shut-eye.

Now though, I had a whole new reason to pace my apartment alone at 4 in the morning while in a threesome with Ben&Jerry. It was the same reason that had driven me up to the roof, seeking- needing- escape. Victor was going back to trial in May. On some level, that should have relieved me. He was going to be locked up again, maybe 20,000 leagues under the sea or in a remote, chained box abandoned in the Sahara. It also meant I had to see him again, though. It meant I had to face a court and jury for a second time and convict the man that continually tried to kill me while he smirked dauntingly, center-stage. I didn't know if I could do that. I closed my eyes and exhaled, wrapping my arms around myself.

A few minutes later, I heard the door to the roof open. I looked over my shoulder in surprise. I was even more startled to see my visitor was Dimitri. Well, maybe I shouldn't have been too surprised. He'd made it clear that no matter what, he'd watch out for me, like some awesome knight in shining armor or a guardian from a children's book. He'd make a killer addition to King Arthur's court. I turned back, unsure how to take his presence yet. His boots crunched in the snow as he walked over to where I was sitting.

Not long after, warmth flooded over me as he draped his duster over my shoulders. I hadn't realized how thick the fabric was before, or how his scent clung to it. That last part made me appreciate it ten times more. I'd always loved how he smelled, like pine and aftershave. It was comforting and made my shoulders slack in relaxation as he sat down next to me. "You must be freezing," he remarked.

"It could be worse." That comment was reserved solely for mother nature. I couldn't apply it much to my life. It liked to be in shambles a good portion of the time. I craned my neck back, looking at the sky. "Besides, the stars are out."

He had no immediate reply for that. We sat in comfortable silence, letting the snow fall around us. I dared a peek at him from the corner of my eye. He was stargazing alongside me, his face thoughtful. I couldn't help but admire him at the same time. He had his hair down for once, the silken strands framing his face and deep, brown eyes. I turned my gaze back up to the stars. Somehow, they didn't look so bright after studying Dimitri's awe-striking features. "How did you know I was up here?" I asked.

"I followed you from the conference room."

"Huh." I hadn't even realized he was around to see that. Alberta had pulled me aside to tell me the news about Victor, wanting some fraction of privacy. Needless to say, I hadn't taken the news well regardless. I'd all but slammed the door behind me when I left, ignoring the looks of my coworkers as I briskly walked out of my department. "I'm guessing you saw the scene I made, then?"

"It wasn't a scene. Hardly anyone noticed. I saw you because I was watching you." While warmth bubbled up inside me again, I refused to outwardly react or get worked up at that. He gave me a sideways look. "What happened in there?" he asked after several moments.

I told him. There was something comforting about Dimitri that made it easy to talk to. I spilled the news about Victor's trial, my upcoming testimony, and my current anxieties. I could see some of his old reflexes tense up when I admitted my fears at being in the same, confined room as my almost-killer again. "Victor won't hurt you," Dimitri said matter-of-factly. The fire in eyes made the stars look like nothing. "I won't let him."

A flicker of a smile came to my face at that. "Gonna be my knight in shining armor, Comrade?"

"If that's what it takes."

I shook my head and sighed. "Sorry, but I prefer the duster over chainmail. Besides, it's not just Victor that's bothering me. His brother isn't helping soothe my conscious, either." Dimitri gave me another look. He didn't know where Robert pieced into this. I didn't blame him. I hadn't told anyone about my side stop to a mental asylum, figuring that kind of introduction couldn't be left alone without a follow-up explanation. With my usual barriers down, I opened up again and told him about my visit to see the Dashkov sibling weeks ago, and what the wacko had said. He frowned at this, but didn't negate my decision to go. For the most part, he looked upset at what Robert had told me and how deeply it had been bothering me.

"You realize none of that's true, Rose."

"Yeah, it's crazy, I know. I just can't get it out of my head." I tugged the coat around me tighter. "The whole death thing isn't comforting to begin with, but I've had a bad feeling ever since then."

"What kind of feeling?"

My eyes were on the stars again. Up on the high ledge of the roof, it was easy to make out constellations and the dots usually blotted out by the city smog. Mentioning my uneasiness had caused it stir again and I could feel the pit in my stomach grow. It gnawed at me. While on some level my head was telling me the biggest calamity and doomsday of my life was over, my instincts were screaming a different story. Something like I'd won the battle, but not the war.

This was just the quiet before the storm. The wind stirred between Dimitri and I as I looked at him, a million thoughts on my mind. "Like Victor's only the beginning."**  
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**The sequel will be a new story titled **_**Hathaway&Dragomir: White Knight**_**. ****Expect it after the New Year, and consider this an early Christmas gift. Many thanks to all of you.**


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